What Is Past
by htewing
Summary: After a decade, the exiled Jedi Trista Morace returns to the Republic to find it in tatters and herself both hunted and regaining the Force against her will. If only she could convince the people joining her to cooperate long enough to stop the Sith and rebuild everything . . . fExilexAtton. Second in the Schrödinger's Trilogy. Updates irregularly.
1. Prologue: Leaving

_**A/N: **_Hi there! I decided that I don't have enough to do this semester, so I am gonna work on two fics for two different fandoms simultaneously. However this means that I may not be able to update as much as I really want to on either, so once we get past what I do have written on this (I'm on Chapter 11) I will probably slow down to a chapter or two a week, depending.  
This fic is the second epic in the _Schrödinger's Memories_ (and the second in the Schrödinger's Trilogy), following Jedi Exile Trista Morace as she unwillingly regains her connection to the Force and deals with the state of the galaxy she left a decade earlier. While this may be a decent standalone fic, I highly recommend reading _Schrödinger's _first to get a basis for my Revan. Take a rainy day and read it or something.  
And for those of us joining me from _Schrödinger's_, welcome back! We'll see how this goes.

* * *

_**Prologue: Leaving**_

She knew that walking away would be the hardest thing she'd ever done.

But as the woman once feared as Darth Revan walked away from her ship, leaving a deactivated HK-make droid and a lone Astromech who watched her from the lowered ramp, she knew it was the only option. Traveling on ahead, alone, further into the unknown. Staying on the ship, staying with the droids . . . that brought back too many memories, memories of _happiness_, memories that didn't have a place where she was headed and would only continue to make her nostalgic and distracted.

She approached the transport official, making sure to not look out of place in the surprisingly busy crowd. This wasn't an Empire-held world - though she'd found many of them and increasingly more as she went further, and she knew that even worlds uncontrolled by the Empire were still regulated by them. She was still surprised she hadn't been marked further, especially after that incident the year before on her first Empire-held world.

"I need transport," she said, as she got within speaking distance of the officer.

"Where to?"

"The nearest world where I may purchase a ship. Or another sort of independent transport." She narrowed her eyes slightly. "Without having to 'borrow' it with no intention of returning."

He glanced past her at the now-closed _Hawk_, scanning it. "If you're looking to sell, I-"

He was cut off as the ship's engines roared, and it swept off the landing pad and into the sky. She smiled sweetly at him. "I'm not. Transport, please?"

She bought her ticket and headed towards the appropriate dock, looking back in time to catch the _Hawk_'s lights as it sped back into space. _Good luck, my friend,_ she thought, staring after it wistfully for a second or two. _I'm sorry._

#

"_Not_ a Jedi," Trista Morace hissed under her breath as she paced down the _Harbinger_'s deck, heading towards the medical bay. "If I have to explain that one more time . . ."

The woman in question _wasn't_, in fact, a Jedi, though a decade ago she would have answered that question very differently. Traveling the Rim and Unknown Regions, looking for odd jobs - it was a far cry from what she once had been, but she'd learned to cope. Just the previous year she'd finally gotten to a point where she no longer attempted to use the Force - she was a normal, perfectly functioning human. Or, at least _mostly_ functioning - no, _perfectly_ functioning.

And why anyone needed to see her was a mystery.

And she'd been gone for so long that her immune system had needed regular vaccinations and booster shots. She'd even been kept in isolation initially, the officers afraid that she carried some awful unknown disease. She'd been cleared, but she still needed the vaccinations they insisted on.

"Hello," she said to the medical technician as she entered the med bay. "I'm here for my last round of vaccinations?"

"Just slide your keycard into the console, ma'am, and we'll get started." The tech smiled - a charming grin, that showed a good number of his teeth in his dark face - and motioned to one of the chairs. She smiled back, though it didn't extend to her eyes, and did so. It chimed, indicating that it was the one she'd used before, and she settled down as the medical droid tromped over. She was surprised - the droid didn't look like one of the typical models. But she'd heard that some had to be decommissioned, and it was likely a protocol droid repurposed to a different function.

She thought, as she closed her eyes and listened to the sound of the droid preparing her vaccination cocktail next to her, that it was good no one but the Captain knew her name. In Republic space she wasn't Trista Morace, or even a general. She was referred to as the Exile, as the captain had explained, the only Jedi to submit herself to returning to the Jedi Council for judgment after the Mandalorian Wars and then leaving to fulfill her sentence.

He'd filled her in, generally, on what had happened in the decade since as well. Revan had returned with an army, attacking the Republic when it was weakest. She had initially been believed dead from a Republic strike team but in reality the former Sith had returned as a Jedi known as Anna Kyjjl, striking down Malak during a battle over an unknown world on an unknown station. If it was the truth Trista thought it was sad - they had both been her friends, and they had once been closer than the Jedi had recommended.

For some reason though no one would tell her how the Jedi had fared in this war, just that they had needed to find her. Who had needed to find her, and why, no one would say. And she couldn't ask Revan - she'd disappeared into thin air during the third victory fleet tour, two years to the day after they'd demolished the space station, taking her ship and a Mandalorian companion known only as Ordo to the galaxy. This had even been before everyone had known who she was - afterwards, a Jedi had outed her as Revan and the Republic had nearly exploded with a combination of confusion and rage directed at the Order, only simmering down not long before the _Harbinger_ had picked her up.

The rage had ceased just a year before now.

She'd just, a few days ago, called for transport after her ship crashed and the hail had been picked up by the Republic ship she'd found herself on. The ship looking for _her_.

If she had still been a Jedi, she would have muttered something under her breath about the Force. Since she wasn't, she merely thought it, and then cursed the thought for occurring to her.

She let herself slump slightly in her chair. Whatever reason the Jedi or the Republic had to summon her, it wouldn't be good. The Jedi likely wanted to admonish her once more, and possibly this time confine her to the Temple so she could "think about her actions." She didn't understand the point. She couldn't feel the Force anymore - she was no more dangerous than a soldier with a blaster to a Jedi.

The droid pricked her arm to deliver her vaccination cocktail, but almost immediately she felt something was wrong. With reflexes honed by years of living beyond the Rim, she reached up and grabbed its metal arm, only then realizing that it wasn't a repurposed protocol droid as her eyes went blurry, and her limbs suddenly started to weaken. She heard the tech rush over, frantically checking her, but she couldn't reply as she slumped back against the medical chair and felt herself slip into darkness.


	2. Chapter 1

_**A/N:**_ Since I hate just teasing people with prologues, have Chapter 1.

* * *

**1**

For a little droid, T3-M4 thought he got in a surprisingly large amount of trouble.

First, there had been the woman who'd intercepted the _Hawk_ when he'd stopped to fuel - his Master had been negligent about refueling towards the planet where she'd abandoned them - and forced her way on, closing the disabled HK-47 in the main hold's storage compartment with most of their supplies and interrogating him as to his Master's last know whereabouts and the reason why the navicomputer was voice-locked. He played dumb - successfully - and the woman had sufficed to commandeer the ship and take it to intercept a Republic vessel. That worked for him, as it put him a step closer to finding his Master's old partner.

Except of course that the ship had been attacked and crippled, then picked up by the Republic ship, which itself was then attacked, and all this was far above T3's programming.

But now everyone was dead or dying and he'd lost his Master's favorite swoop bike, which he was sure to hear about later when he found her again. More pressingly, he'd lost quite a bit of his own mechanical function and as the _Ebon Hawk_ tilted dangerously, he wondered if - no, no, this was his Master's ship and he wouldn't have it damaged. _She_ wouldn't like to see it damaged, and he didn't like it when fluids leaked out of her eyes. He'd always expressed concern over that, asking if she was damaged, and she'd laugh it off quietly and pet his top.

Feeling capable after remembering his Master's orders to keep the ship safe he rolled, wobbling, out of the cockpit and into the main hold. The old woman who'd threatened him lay in a heap in a corner of the hold, dead. He chirped rudely at her and studied the control panel at the base of the holotable.

He'd need his Master's newer astromech droid for help.

T3 started to roll towards the cargo hold, then looked towards the medical bay. The old woman had managed to put the Jedi on the medical bay cot, but that was as far as she'd gotten before they'd been fired on. He looked towards the cargo hold, then rolled into the medical bay.

T3 bumped into the Jedi's hand with a chirp, getting no reaction. He didn't know much about the corollaries between droids and organics, but he knew the registers on the bed showed her motors running either weakly or out of norm. He couldn't use a repair kit on her - he didn't have one anyway - but he knew organics had their own version of a repair kit, and his Master had some stashed all over the place, including in . . . there.

He pried up a corner of a panel in the floor and produced a med-pac, his manipulator arm ripping the package after he rolled onto it with a strut to hold it, and lining up the syringe with the Jedi's arm hanging limp over the bed. Carefully prodding it with another tool he jabbed it into her skin and pressed the syringe down slowly. As the syringe depleted, the medical bay screens slowly changed to show normal processing. With a happy chirp he dropped the syringe, fiddled with a tiny self-adhering bandage long enough to put it over the pinprick, and rolled back out.

T3 made his way to the cargo hold, finding the deactivated 3C model. He hadn't liked 3C when his Master had brought the droid on board, but 3C wasn't quite as old as T3 (even though T3 was still fairly young) and it was more that the droid was fumbling. With a chirp, he reached out and reactivated 3C.

3C flickered to life, also damaged by falling debris but not directly attacked as T3 had been. His sensor light flicked to life, and he chirped.

"_3C = damaged._"

"_T3 + 3C = damaged_," T3 assured him. "_T3 = needs 3C help / Ship = damaged / T3 + 3C = fix ship._"

"_3C = understand / 3C = how?_"

"_T3 + 3C = open garage door / 3C = open blast door / T3 = repair kits_."

3C was quiet for a few, then chirped affirmatively and rolled towards the holotable. T3 rolled to the door to the garage and chirped back. "_T3 = ready._"

"_3C = ready._" The first door opened, and T3 scooted through. As soon as he was through he latched onto the floor using his magnetic struts and chirped again. The second door opened, and vacuum pressure struck him. Bracing his struts on the floor he rolled to the workbench, chirping quietly at the loss of his Master's tools. She wouldn't be happy about that, either.

There were repair kits in one of the drawers, and he opened it. The lack of gravity made them float and, knowing that he was losing a good amount of supplies, he managed to snatch two out of the air. He'd just have to restock before his Master returned, was all.

He rolled back to the airlock and chirped. 3C responded in kind, and the airlock door behind him closed. He met 3C in front of the turbolift to the gunner's turret and passed him a repair kit, and the two droids quickly began to repair themselves.

T3 finished first and activated the turbolift, transporting himself to the top of the ship. 3C followed, and T3 directed him to the other side. "_3C + T3 = explosives + hyperdrive repair parts._" 3C chirped in reply and rolled to the top of the ship, and T3 took the more damaged side.

In ten or so minutes they'd located the appropriate repair parts and an unexplored torpedo from the ship that had fired on them, and returned to the ship proper. T3 took the torpedo, placed it in front of the engine room, and backed both droids a good distance away before opening fire. It exploded, twisting the engine room door until it was inoperable, but open. Inside the hyperdrive blinked dangerously, beyond T3's capability to fully repair with their parts all over local space. The port engine was also essentially dead, flickering occasionally with power but otherwise dark. He could get the hyperdrive running just long enough to get them to the nearby mining depot. They couldn't head into lightspeed, but they didn't need to either.

He relayed this information to 3C as he fixed the hyperdrive, just putting the final piece in place when a loud, explosive bang ran through the ship.

T3 hadn't forgotten about the HK model droid he'd locked with HK-47 in the storage bay. But he hadn't expected it to have such disturbingly strong weaponry. He chirped the fastest warning he could at 3C, cut short when an ion blast made the poor droid spark dangerously and fall dark. T3 didn't wait, zipping to the right with a shriek. No HK model droid was going to get the drop on him, not when the Jedi was depending on him, and not when he'd been given explicit instructions by his Master to keep the ship and himself intact.

The droid nearly got him as he sped through the main hold, the ion blast striking the floor just behind him as he cut a sharp left and headed down the hallway to the cockpit. Once he reached it he shut the door behind him, engaging its blast shield. Over the last two years his Master had made it a self-sustaining unit in the event of the _Hawk_'s failure during flight, and not even that droid would be able to tear through it.

Sure enough it was only a little time before it banged on the door, demanding entry. T3 chirped a series of progressively rude retorts back as he plugged himself into the _Hawk_'s dash system, steering the ship towards Peragus.

#

"Got a ship coming in."

"We don't have any registered ships." The deck captain leaned over the console, examining the signal. "That's a distress tone. How is the ship making it through the asteroid field?"

"I don't know, sir. Should we let it land?"

He nodded. "Yes. I want to know how it's coming through without the astrogation charts."

A few minutes later he was watching a battered gray-and-red freighter limping into the hangar, setting down roughly and causing some rocks and dust to tumble loose from the ceiling. The ramp dropped down roughly, causing a cloud of dust to roar up from the floor, and the security team and deck officer coughed.

"Cordial greetings." A silvery protocol droid stepped down the ramp. "Hello, organics! Unnecessary explanation: it appears our ship has taken some damage."

"Well, what happened?"

"Explanation: I'm afraid I do not know, sir. We were initially on a Republic ship that was destroyed before locating this small freighter. My master appears to be quite injured from all the commotion."

"We'll get a medical team." He looked at one of the few deck workers and one of them hurried to a comm. "What attacked you?"

"Weary recitation: I'm afraid I do not know, mea- sir. Concerned request: if you do not mind, my master is a very important Jedi, and she-"

"She's _what_?" The dock officer grabbed the droid's arm, glaring at the security crew as he did. They stopped murmuring. "We should talk privately. Security team, locate the injured woman and secure the ship. Take stock of the damage as well." He started off, the silver protocol droid following, and the team boarded the freighter.

The damage was thorough - it was apparent that whoever had attacked the ship had intended to kill. There was a garage just inside the ramp, missing one entire side. The blast doors were pliable now that the ship was out of vacuum, and they gained access to the rest of the ship.

The sole living passenger they found in the medical bay, stable but comatose. A few of them hung back by the door warily as two others, selected by lot, carefully lifted the lean blonde off the bed and onto a stretcher. She didn't stir.

There were several dead men and an old woman in the hold. They piled them onto stretchers after checking with the deck officer, who wanted to know what had happened to the ship and demanded that autopsies be performed.

The cockpit door was sealed shut. As they started to pry it open, something clicked and the door slid apart to show a small Astromech droid, an older T3 model, obviously in good condition and well-cared for. It chirped.

"_T3-M4,_" it said. "_= flew ship here. Other droid =/= trust. HK-50 = bounty hunter droid = after Jedi._"

"You understand what it's saying?"

"Nope."

T3 whined in frustration and prodded the closest man with his manipulator arm. He jumped.

"Looks like someone might need a memory wipe," he said. T3 replied with a series of inventive profanity he'd learned from his Master and quickly put himself into a false low-power state mimicking shutdown.

He could outsmart any model based on that droid in the main storage room any day. He didn't need organics messing up his repairs of the _Hawk._

And he certainly wasn't getting a memory-wipe.

#

The chief security officer glared over his desk at the man in front of him, cuffs firmly on his wrists with two guards standing behind his chair. "And . . . what exactly happened?"

The brown-haired man shrugged irreverently. "How about you ask Morons A and B here?"

He didn't seem amused. "I'm asking you."

"I was making a delivery."

"A delivery of _contraband_, sir," one of his officers said, handing him a datapad. "This is a list of what we found in the 'routine' delivery of supplies."

He scanned the list. "Are you serious?"

"Hey!" The man raised his bound hands defensively. "You can't expect me to know all your rules? How was I supposed to know that alcohol and pazaak cards weren't allowed? Maybe you should look for the people who ordered 'em, huh?"

"Maybe you should read the regulations before choosing to import contraband!" The security officer slammed his datapad onto the desk.

He waved his hands at the datapad. "In nearly any other port in the galaxy they'd welcome me with open arms for that shit! If you don't want it, I can turn around and run it to Onderon or somewhere."

"You aren't leaving," he snapped. "Smuggling anything flammable to Peragus -"

"Look." He raised his hands. "Pazaak cards are only flammable if you _set them on fire_. Unless someone else smuggled in some _matches_ -"

"I don't care about the damn cards!" the officer roared, making the man sit back in his seat heavily. "You brought a crate full of blasters and seventeen bottles of Corellian brandy! Do you know how dangerous alcohol and blasters are together?"

He shrugged. "Sounds to me like a good time. Then again, I have to get my kicks somehow."

The heavy man sputtered for a few moments, beard twitching.

If there was one thing the accused smuggler was good at, it was riling people up. He pretended he wasn't, of course - it was difficult to secure smuggling jobs if everyone hated you. But overeager security personnel, especially way out in the Peragus system? He could find a trillion jobs that even _paid_ better than Peragus runs. Of course, he hadn't found any the day before, but he was _sure_ that was just a fluke and _not_ a sudden influx of smugglers after the galaxy's recent instability.

"You realize what the penalty for smuggling in the Republic is?"

He shrugged. "Looking the other way while the best stuff goes right by their noses?"

Another splutter, then the administrator apparently decided he wasn't worth it and cleared his throat. "Take him to the security cells. We'll let him sit for a little while and think about what he's done."

"What? You aren't the Republic, you can't-"

"Wrong, Mr. Rand. We can. We have colonial authority out here." He waved his hand disinterestedly. "Take him off. Let him sit."

Atton Rand tried to shake off the hands holding him, but failed as he was pulled back to his feet. "Right, well fine, then," he shot back. "If you want to be a little schutta."

"Get him out of my sight."

#

Trista Morace had once been a Jedi, that much was certain.

But the miners at the Peragus facility didn't know her name, nor did they bother to search for her description. She was a credit sign - a large one at that - and they were greedy. They didn't know that she wasn't any longer - in fact, she couldn't do half of what a Jedi could anymore, and would thereby be worthless to the bounty holder. If they had bothered to do some simple fact-checking, things would have gone far easier for all parties involved.

Meanwhile she floated, comatose, in a kolto tank in the bowels of the facility joined by a ever-increasing collection of wounded miners. Three days later, the facility around her was all-but deserted.

That was when the first signs of wakefulness in the tank's occupant began, the kolto tank lighting to life. A moment later she gasped for air and the tank automatically unsealed, flooding kolto and its occupant onto the floor around it. She unconsciously crawled several steps, as if trying to remove herself from the tank's vicinity, and collapsed in the center of the medlab.

Time passed - no more than an hour - and she stirred again, slowly leveling herself off the floor with an exhausted grunt. She felt drugged, sluggish, barely in control of her own limbs as she staggered to her feet and forward though a door.

Trista managed to fumble with a console just inside another door as her senses slowly began to return. She oddly couldn't remember anything past being on board a Republic warship - the _Harbinger_, she thought - and even that seemed a bit fuzzy. Then again, everything seemed fuzzy at the edge of her vision, and she suspected that played a role in the general fuzziness.

As she found and downed some water and a ration bar she listened to the medical logs, clarity returning with a small smidge of disgust - the smallest smidge of it because some of her Jedi training still held marginally true and a small smidge was all she was going to show.

Someone had tried to kill her.

Granted, that was sometimes a regular occurrence, so she shouldn't have been surprised that someone _had_ tried to kill her. But here? Where no one . . . no, they had known who she was. That much was obvious. Someone had said she was a Jedi - she _wasn't_, firstly - and that had caused an uproar. Why had it caused an uproar?

Trista groaned and opened the morgue door, closed just across the way. The rest of the facility was probably behind the malfunctioning door, and without a readily visible way to get through her only option might be to see if any of the dead miners listed on the terminal had some cutting equipment among their personal effects. Raiding bodies - a despicable act, but she didn't have much of a choice.

Adjusting the thin, uncomfortably revealing undergarments she'd come out of the tank wearing, she padded over to the morgue and beelined for a sheet-covered miner. The old woman on the corner cot had been pulled, dead, off her ship, with nothing of value - she needed one of the miners who had just come out of the tunnels with all their items intact, after all. She leaned over the form, her back to the door, searching the man's pockets.

Ah. A plasma cutter. That should be able to cut through the door. She just needed to find the miners - hopefully the explosions from the night before hadn't done too much damage and everyone was back to work, and she could find both some answers and some clothe-

"Find what you were looking for amongst the dead?"

Trista spun, torch brandished in front of her. The old woman from the cot was standing behind her, brown hood pulled low over her face. Despite the fact that there was no human way for her to see Trista with the blocking hood, the former Jedi had the uncomfortable feeling of being scrutinized and held her torch more like a weapon.

Her voice triggered something, a dim memory, and slowly she lowered it. "I . . . I heard your voice in the tank," she said, her voice hoarse and hissing from several days spent in kolto incubation.

"Yes, I'd hoped as much," the woman said with a curt nod, though Trista never felt her gaze move. She crossed her arms over her chest in reply. "I'd slept here too long, strangely unable to awaken. It may be that I reached out unconsciously, and your mind was willing. Or perhaps you have received training for such things?"

Trista scoffed. "No." Not anymore, at least. "Then you can touch minds, and feign death. Who are you?"

"I am Kreia," she replied. "I am your rescuer - as you are mine, I fear. Tell me - do you recall what happened?"

"No. I was on a Republic vessel, and then I was here."

"Your ship was attacked. You were the only survivor . . . a result of your Jedi training, no doubt."

Trista swallowed and shook her head. "I have no such training. And I'm certainly no Jedi."

"Your stance as you held your weapon, your walk tells me you are a Jedi. It is heavy. You carry something that weighs you down."

"Let's deal with the fact that we seem to be trapped, rather than the past." Trista's reply was unintentionally snappy, and Kreia shrugged. "Where are we?"

"I do not know. I was removed from these events as I . . . slept. A survey of the surroundings may produce the answers we seek. And the ship we arrived in must still be here. We should recover it, and leave."

"Right. Fine. Why are we in such a hurry?"

The stare she could sense from her carried irritation. "We were attacked once, and I fear they will not give up so easily. And without transport, weapons, and information, we will be easy prey indeed."

"Fair enough." Trista sighed and brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. They'd taken her hair down when they'd put her into the kolto - it was hanging scraggly down her back in damp blonde tangles. She'd need to find a hairbrush as well, or at least a tie or scarf. And clothing. "There must still be someone alive around here. I'll attempt to find them."

"You may also wish to locate some clothes, if only for proper first impressions."

"Before we go-"

"Before _you_ go-"

"Before _I_ go . . . the patients with me in med bay were killed by sedatives. A lethal dose. Do you know how it happened?"

"I told you, girl, I was unaware of recent events. But why were you spared?"

"I wasn't."

"Interesting. A Jedi trance could protect one from such toxins . . . in fact, the sedatives may have been intended only to keep you unconscious, but prove lethal to those untrained in such techniques. Curious."

"You seem to have more than a passing knowledge of Jedi techniques."

"You will find that I possess a passing knowledge of many things." She made a shooing motion with her hand. "The enemy draws closer while we stand about wasting our time. I will remain here, and attempt to center myself."

Trista sighed. She'd be about as useful getting off wherever they were as an underwater mynock. "I'll return soon to make sure you're all right."

"I assure you, that will be unnecessary." Kreia turned on her heel and walked away without another word, settling back down on her vacated cot. Trista resisted the urge to repeat her earlier sigh and stalked out, bare feet still thudding quietly into the floor.

She just wanted to get away from anyone calling her a Jedi, and something about the strange woman calling herself Kreia unnerved her - as if the sooner she separated herself from the woman, the better it would be.


	3. Chapter 2

**2**

::_You can feel it._::

Trista had quickly determined that Kreia had a disturbing habit of speaking telepathically, and across fairly far distances. She and Revan had once been able to speak across battlefields but - no, no, she wouldn't _think_ about those times. It was bad enough that she was currently bent over a desk gasping, trying to ignore the burning at the back of her mind that felt so familiar and yet so foreign after nearly a decade of not knowing it.

::_It's quiet, but it's there._::

"No," she breathed, knuckles white on the edge of the desk. "I don't want this. I don't ever want this. Not again. _Never_ again."

No. With the Force she destroyed worlds, destroyed lives and cultures and _everything _around her. She wasn't supposed to have this ever again. She was never supposed to have this again. She'd never wanted it ever _ever_ again.

She'd just gotten _used_ to normalcy!

"Please," she begged the woman at the other end of the telepathic link. "Please. Take it away, don't let it happen."

::_Don't turn away,_:: Kreia replied, almost as if she were amusing.

"I have to. You don't know . . . you don't understand . . ." Her voice was almost a sob. She couldn't, she never, it wasn't . . .

::_Do not be afraid of it. Reach out and embrace it. There is a storm coming, and you will need it in times to come._::

"I can't," she sobbed. "You don't know what I've done with it. Please, don't -"

::_You will -_::

"I don't _care_!" she yelled at the invisible woman inside her head. "I don't _care_ about destinies or your friends who tried to kill us! I just want to be left _alone_! Why is that so difficult for every hutunn in the galaxy to comprehend? _I. Just. Want. To. Be. Left. Alone._"

::_Stop,_:: Kreia chided. ::_You are acting like a petulant child. You have no other choice. Reach out, and embrace it._::

"I can't."

She almost _felt_ Kreia push her towards the burning comforting _terrifying_ warmth that almost seemed to be waiting for her. That warmth exploded inside her, wrapped around her and drug her back down, and she collapsed against the desk she was leaning heavily against and sobbed. She knew how stupid she was being, how absolutely daft - the Force wasn't _really_ alive, after all. But it had a mind of its own - a terrible mind of its own. And it would use her, and she'd destroyed a world, an entire civilization because of it. She couldn't do that again - she _wouldn't_ do that again.

She knew it'd been her own fault but if she'd never had the Force, if she'd never been a Jedi _she never_ would have done it.

Someone else may have, but not her. Not Trista Morace.

::_Force. It is not as painful as you imagine it to be. Now hurry. I fear our time is growing short and we do not have the luxury of emotional torment._::

"Go to hell," Trista murmured, scrubbing her eye with her palm.

::_I have no intention of doing so until we are off this station. Now, be swift._::

Still sniffling, Trista climbed back to her feet, rummaging through some storage lockers while digging her palm into her eyes to clear them. There was no clothing, but she located the stealth generator the recording had spoken of that might enable her to hurry through the droids and shut them down. She wrapped it around her waist, straightened her shoulders, and started towards the next door.

Outside was a large room, and she could hear the droids moving around in what she recognized as a patrol formation. Her hands rested on the belt and quickly switched the generator on, slipping through the door. The area around her was mercifully free from droid inhabitants, though she could see them moving about on the other side of the room and knew she needed to hurry. She stole through, bare feet padding almost silently on the floor.

Once she reached the terminal, she switched off her generator and quickly keyed in the proper code. The droids slowly shut down, sensor lights going dim.

"Take a look at the security cameras," she murmured to herself. "See what's going - oh, hello . . ."

There was a man pacing a holding cell in a room that didn't look too far from her location. He possibly knew what had happened to the facility, she thought. It didn't even occur to her that she wouldn't be alone if she spoke to him - if it had, she may have hesitated.

::_Be mindful of that one,_:: Kreia said. ::_His thoughts are difficult to read. But you have nothing to fear, and he may be useful._::

"So are you just hanging about in my head?" Trista murmured. "Seeing what I see?"

There was no reply.

She unlocked the door and padded to it, reaching her hand out and pausing. This was awkward. She was nearly completely naked, covered only by the undergarments she'd been wearing under her clothing on the _Harbinger_, and they were still damp and smelled heavily of kolto. And that was to say nothing of her hair, scraggly and matted down her back, its usual golden sheen changed to a dingy yellow.

But it wasn't as if she had any choice.

With a deep breath and a hand tight on her plasma cutter, she slammed her hand into the door and opened it. The man in the cell jerked around, and his eyes immediately scanned the length of her body. Trista swallowed, then cleared her throat. He looked up, a suggestive smirk crossing his face.

"Well," he drawled. "Nice outfit, sweets. You miners change regs while I've been in here?"

"Keep your eyes focused," she chided. "And tell me who you are, and why you've been confined."

He cleared his throat but, true to her orders, kept his eyes on her face as he brushed a vagrant shock of brown hair out of his eyes. "Atton. Atton Rand. I'd shake hands, but I'd like to keep my fingers. You?"

"Trista. Trista Morace. And why are you locked up?"

"Violated some stupid rule on a supply run. This place is full of trumped-up regulations. Ask them if you want, but they stopped listening just before they stopped feeding me." He crossed his arms. "Now _that_'s criminal."

"They didn't stop _feeding_ you. The facility is deserted. What happened?"

He shrugged. "Before or _after_ a Jedi showed up? Either way, it's not complicated. Whenever a Jedi shows up you know what that means - there's one Jedi and suddenly you've got fifteen Republic cruisers up your ion engine in no time. _Then_, some of the miners managed to get a thought through their ferrocrete skulls that, since the Jedi's in a coma or whatever, they can collect the bounty the Exchange posted for live Jedi without a problem. Then there's some big explosions, I was sitting here for a long time, then you showed up in your underwear and things got a _lot_ better."

Trista not-so-subtly rolled her eyes. "What's this about a bounty on Jedi?"

"I don't know anything about it. I'm a decent smuggler, not a bounty hunter," Atton protested. "Maybe they want one as a trophy, or someone's got something against Jedi and wants to collect. I stay out of Exchange business. But there's not many Jedi left - wouldn't surprise me if the bounty's pretty high."

Trista's already pale skin paled further, a change she was sure he noticed. "What do you mean?" she asked quickly. "Not many left?"

"Nah. They started killing each other a while back in the Civil War, and those that weren't killed ended up switching off the lightsabers a while back. From what I hear, there's not even a Council anymore."

"I'd heard about a war, but between Jedi?" Trista shook her head. Impossible.

"Yep. Revan and Malak and the Jedi that fought in the Wars turned on the other Jedi and had a scrap that nearly destroyed the galaxy." He raised an eyebrow and let out a small chuckle. "Where have you been?"

She pursed her lips and glanced away. "I've been . . . away . . . for some time . . . but what happened? To Revan and Malak?"

"Heh. I wasn't there, thankfully. But they turned on each other, like Sith do. After they went after the Jedi, of course."

"Revan is still talked about as a hero. Or at least she was on the ship I was on."

"Eh. Hero, villain. Doesn't matter." He shrugged. "There's rumors all over space about it. All I know is she returned to pay back Malak for trying to kill her in the first place. You know women. Present company hopefully excluded."

"If she had truly returned to the Jedi, then her redemption would have been stopping Malak," she corrected.

"Like I said, I wasn't there . . . thankfully. But I heard what she was like during the Mando Wars and it sounded like she was quick to take out anyone who disagreed with her. Dark Jedi are bad enough but when a woman goes dark-side, you better space yourself before she gets you." Almost the briefest wave of panic flashed behind his eyes. "Uh . . . no offense or anything."

Trista's heart panged slightly. This was Revan he was being so flippant about. They hadn't always seen eye to eye - in fact, they'd _rarely_ seen eye-to-eye - but they had been friends. Worse, really, they'd been the only family either had, despite the Jedi discouraging such ties. She'd been older, but that meant nothing in the face of Revan's intelligence. "She was fighting a war. She didn't have _time_ to argue ideology. Look. There are other things I must -"

"Look, not like your half-naked interrogation isn't a _personal_ fantasy of mine . . ." He blinked. "Wait! You're the Jedi the miners were talking about. Where is everybody?"

"I was going to ask you the same question. This facility seems abandoned."

"The miners can't be gone. But if they are . . ." He nervously chuckled again. "Look. Hey. Get me out, and I can help you. I _can,_" he replied at her look. "I've gotten out of trouble plenty of times."

"And how do you suggest we proceed?"

"Well this isn't a military installation, so we may have a chance. Shut down this security field and I can reroute emergency systems so we can get to the hangars. We grab a ship and fly out of here. Easy."

"Before I do," Trista said, walking towards the controls and fully cognizant of his eyes on her backside. "The patients in the medical bay were killed with a lethal dose of sedatives. Were you aware?"

"What? Listen, sister, I've been trapped in this thing for at _least_ four days. I don't know anything about anyone getting killed. So you done interrogating me, or are we going to work together and get out of this?"

"No tricks," she warned. He huffed.

"I know better than to double-cross a Jedi, don't worry." She glanced back to catch the end of his sideways grin. "Unless you _want _me too, sweetheart."

Trista glared at him and brought down the field around his cell. "The administration console is out here. Follow me." She turned on her heel and stalked out of the prison, making a conscious effort to avoid looking back at him.

Atton immediately headed for the console, hacking into it. Trista was almost impressed. "All right. Here we are. This console is set on automatic hail - you may have heard it when you were flying in."

"I was unconscious, so no."

"Anyway." That didn't seem to phase him. "It's a transmission to incoming vessels so they don't get crushed by the asteroid field. They send a message out, it gets pinged back, they send the asteroid drift chart out and the ship gets to dock, no problems, no crushing-into-dust." He was talking almost too quickly for her to understand. "So all we have to do is alter the outgoing signal, bounce it back to this one and - there. Pure pazaak. The console's unlocked. All we need to do is re-activate the turbolifts, cancel the emergency lockdown, and - hey."

Trista pursed her lips. "More bad news?"

"Like the fact that I can't reroute all of the station's systems?" Atton dropped onto the floor, looking under the terminal. "Aw, damn."

"Now what?" Trista rubbed her forehead. One more piece of bad news, and ...

"I see the problem." He rolled back on his feet, holding up a blackened, singed-looking piece of something. "This was what connected the substations to this one. It's fried. Plasma cutter, I'd say. It's severed this console from the main hub _after_ . . ." He tapped on the screen a few times. "Yeah. _After _it was shut down remotely. We can't even reroute the system."

"That's certainly not standard procedure." She frowned. "Can we access communications, then?"

"Different mechanisms. We're trapped up here, unless we can find someone alive to talk to. Maybe play a friendly game with 'em. What do you _think_ you're going to do with communications, sweetheart?"

Trista rolled her eyes. "Just let me try." She didn't like the idea of Kreia finding out they were stuck, though she did have the disturbing feeling that the woman was constantly hanging over her shoulder.

"Knock yourself out. Though not literally, of course. I'd hate to only have myself to talk to. Again."

She made a face at him as she leaned over the terminal, and it quickly turned into a glare when he leaned against the next terminal's pedestal, watching her. Closely. The dormitories were silent, and Kreia was obviously not going to deign to answer her hail to the medical bay. As she hailed the hangar, there was a sudden series of happy chirps. "Are you operational?" She asked immediately, receiving another series of chirps. "Your designation?"

"_T3-M4 / T3-M4 = Ebon Hawk ship = brought Jedi to Peragus / T3 = deactivated self two days ago / Mining droids = repaired ship / Ship = spaceworthy._"

She blinked. Way more than she'd expected to hear. "That's great! Can you deactivate the lockdown so we can get to the hangar and leave?"

"_T3-M4 = not sure = will try._"

"Good, contact me when you can, all right?"

"_T3 = off!_"

"Are we really trusting an Astromech?" Atton asked. Trista shrugged.

"Or we can hang out here for the next ship to cruise by. Do you know where they keep the food in this place? I'm starving."

#

Fortunately for his motivators, T3 had been quite literally born into this life. His first stored memory, having never been wiped by his Master, was hacking into a Sith base. And he was positive that, had he been organic, his motivators would have long disintegrated from wondering what the hell he was doing in this line of work and opting to find a nice quiet job on a merchant freighter, or something.

But this - the subterfuge, the sneaking around creepy near-deserted facilities to break out and avoid disturbingly Sith-like attackers - that was just a Tuesday for him.

He encouraged his full systems to restore, taking him out of his low-power state to roll towards the hangar control console.

The door was locked, but that posed little problem for him. A few hacks and he was through, rolling up towards the main hangar console. There was his Master's ship, safe and sound and mostly repaired. Repaired enough to get them to Telos, at least. And he had a suspicion who he would find on Telos.

His Master's compatriot was fairly predictable, even for an organic with elevated pheromones.

He squawked when he found the terminal missing a crucial part allowing access to the hangar, far beyond his ability to repair. And without a computer spike, he couldn't open the door to the console it was directing him to. He restored communications and called the administration level.

::_You have something?_::

"_Hangar door = currently inoperable._"

::_Damn. All right. Can - I need a route to the dormitories. My screen shows a route through the mining tunnels?_:: he replied affirmatively ::_Can you open that turbolift?_::

"_T3 = on it._" He closed the communications and studied the camera. His Master's other droid, fully deactivated, sat limp inside the door containing his security and computer spikes. With a chirped apology to the other droid he triggered its self destruct, and the explosion opened the stubbornly broken security door.

T3 raided the chest that survived, tucking away the spikes and tunnelers and returning to the console. A quick hack, aided by one of the devices, almost gave him access to the door - until the terminal flashed red, noting an equipment failure. He inspected it, finding part of it severed by what looked like direct blaster fire. With another irritated chirp he rolled back and, knowing he would find parts he could cobble into it to make it workable in the droid repair bay, he rolled towards the appropriate lift.

He was still wary - he knew what the droid that had sneaked on their ship from the _Harbinger_ was, and he knew vaguely what the droid must be after. How someone had gotten their organic digits on schematics for more of those blasted droids, he wasn't sure. One HK unit was one too many for him. Besides, T3 thought he knew just who had been sabotaging the facility. If the droid didn't have an agenda - and that was a _big_ if - then he wouldn't be surprised that he was just doing it for fun. Or out of boredom.

T3 was confronted almost immediately with a hacked mining droid, who registered him as an enemy. His upgraded shield took the first blast, giving him time to fire his ion arm at the offensive machine. It deactivated, and he quickly hacked it to render it inoperative.

After the initial run in, he used far more caution. This was good, as he ran into several more droids in spectacularly bad moods. But he was prepared this time, scanning specifically for them, and he spotted them before they found him.

The parts he needed were in the back of the droid bay, next to a dead droid mechanic. He secured them in a panel and rushed back to the terminal.

For T3, the repairs were simple and done in a matter of moments. He opened the door to the maintenance area and rolled through.

Droids were just as plentiful in there, and T3 fought his way through to the terminal he'd been directed to. With a triumphant chirp, he plugged in. There were no communications from the terminal, but he was able to open the turbolift to the mining tunnels. He _dwoo_'d softly, not liking the Jedi's plan of action but knowing he needed to follow her orders.

He had no sooner unlocked the lift then his sensors pinged, and he spun on his wheels. Behind him was the HK unit, ion blaster held ready. T3 opened a flap, popping out the blaster he'd smuggled in and a partnering ion blaster and chirping out a threat.

"Unimpressed retort: I do not care if you know what I am doing, Astromech. You will not be a problem much longer."

"_T3 = armed,_" he threatened.

"Threat: As you can see, mine is larger." T3 fired a series of rounds that merely bounced off the HK unit's shields, and the other droid simply sidestepped his ion blast and replied with one of his own.

T3 barely had time to roll before the blast drove through his circuits, frying his motivators and taking him nearly completely offline. It would take him hours to restart successfully, he reflected ruefully as the HK droid stepped forward, using his mechanical strength to heft the smaller but bulkier droid up by a strut.

"Recrimination: It appears that I will need to deposit you somewhere you cannot interfere, you troublesome little trashcan."

#

They'd sat in an awkward silence for some time, Trista in the center chair and Atton one over, both munching on the stale ration bars they'd discovered in a nearby room. Trista had already devoured a sizable number as her metabolism attempted to jump-start itself, sitting as anyone would expect a proper, half-naked Jedi to sit - straight-backed, ankles crossed underneath the chair, one hand resting in her lap as the other drew the ration bar back towards her chest with each bite.

Atton would never admit that he'd been watching her closely, of course. Not him. He had no breast in her interests - shit, no interest in her bre - no, there was nothing to do with that part of her anatomy, or any other for that matter. Nope. Never. Especially if she was a Jedi. _Twenty-two, flip the +/-2, brings total to 19, opponent has 17 _. . .

"So it must be tough," he finally said. "Being a Jedi. No husband, no family . . ."

"No more difficult than enduring your false sympathy while you're staring at my chest," she retorted, barely glancing over at him.

"What?!" Atton coughed, trying to hide his shock. _Draw a 4, end turn, opponent hits 12 . . ._ "I wasn't . . . I mean . . . it isn't like you don't just have 'em out for the whole world to see or anything, you know. You could throw on a shirt or something."

"Good plan. Let me produce one out of thin air."

Snark. He hadn't expected snark. He could do snark. Deal with it, that is. Not . . . when the hell had he gotten simpleminded over women?

"I'd like to see that, sis-" he was interrupted by a chime from the console. Trista leaned forward and Atton looked away with an awkward swallow as the motion accentuated the lines in her back. "Looks like the little trash compactor did it." Trista was already on her feet. "But he opened the turbolift access to the mining tunnels. Why-?"

"Because that's where I'm going." She picked up the vibrosword she'd found. "You stay here and monitor the comms. I need to reach the dormitories."

"No," Atton protested. "No. The explosion I heard came from the mining tunnels. The only thing down there's going to be superheated rock and collapsed tunnels. It's suicide."

"It's the only way out," Trista argued. "And it's better I risk my life than yours."

"Yeah. Whatever delusion you want to keep." She turned and walked in the direction of the turbolift, and he stood. "Hey, look. Um . . ." He hesitantly pulled off his jacket and threw it to her. "Look. That's got a bit of armor plating sewn into it. It won't protect much, but it'll help a little. I'll monitor things from up here. Be careful. The only thing that's going to be down there are mining droids, so don't play hero too much."

"Put it that way, and you sound like you care."

"You're just our best chance at getting off this rock, nothing more," he replied. "I don't want to be trying it by myself or anything."

"Your concern is noted," Trista replied.

Well, that was cold. "I'll keep the commlink open. I may be able to guide you a little. But I don't know if it'll hold when you get too deep."

Trista nodded and started away, wrapping his coat around her shoulders. Atton stared after her, then took a deep breath and dropped back into his chair. Propping his feet up on the terminal he opened the comm.

"Testing, just making sure you can cross the room by yourself."

::_Very funny, Mr. Rand._::

"Just Atton, thank you very much."

::_MISTER Rand,_:: she repeated forcefully.

He turned off his comm and leaned back, a small grin on his face.

* * *

**A/N**: Thanks so much for already liking/reviewing/favoriting this!


	4. Chapter 3

**3**

Trista stepped off the lift. Her first instinct was to discard the jacket Atton had thrown at her - it was _hot_ down there. But even as her hand strayed for the shoulder, it paused. He'd said it had armor plating, and beyond that she would be carrying it with her in order to return it later. She let her hand fall, and tugged it closer around her. She had always been lean, and sort of wispy, and the broad shoulders of the jacket and how she was able to tug it around her chest with a large amount of overlap highlighted that. She even suspected that she'd lost some amount of her muscle mass without constantly needing to keep herself in peak physical condition. She certainly didn't remember drowning in clothing before.

Just inside the small lobby outside the lift sat a series of crates, and she opened the first one hoping for water or something else that might cut the discomfort.

Clothing. That was a plus. Hanging Atton's jacket over the crate's lid she pulled on the pants and shirt, along with the utility belt and an energy shield that she snapped over her wrist. Even the shirt hung loose off her frame, and she had to bunch the pants up to fit her waist. After a brief hesitation - she didn't want to give Atton the wrong idea, but she didn't have much of a choice - she pulled his jacket on and let it hang loose off her shoulders.

::_Testing. Can you read me?_::

Trista jumped, then flicked open her comm. "Barely. For a moment I thought you and Kreia were telepathic."

::_What? Your signal's crammed with static, I didn't catch that._::

So was his. "Never mind."

::_There's a lot of interference, probably 'cause of that damned explosion. But it looks like there's a route to the Peragus fuel depot, if the passages aren't collapsed or anything._::

"Can you tell?"

::_Nah, the explosions ripped a new one on the sensors. I'm seeing that there should be emergency crates near you. Did you find any?_::

She glanced down. "Yeah, right here. It had an energy shield that I'm assuming is a heat shield, a safety harness and some clothes."

::_Damn it!_:: Almost immediately he seemed to realize what that had sounded like. ::_I mean, good. It's distracting. You know, for the droids._::

"Sure it is, Mr. Rand. Any other useful hints?"

::_Yeah. Watch yourself. There's a lot of droid broadcasts in the area but I can't pin 'em down._::

"Copy. Signal me if there's anything else. Morace out."

She clipped her communicator back to her belt and started forward, swinging her large torch - also stolen from the crate - back and forth in the dark tunnel. The heat pressed down on her, the dry air drawing the moisture from her lungs and mouth. Up ahead through hissing steam - that would be fun to traverse - she could hear the clicks of mining droids.

::_Finally narrowed down some of the ID signals, and if the numbers are right you've got a battalion of mining droids sharing those tunnels with you._::

"Any more wonderful news?"

::_They're construction models, so they shoot like a moisture farmer militia. Get in close with that sword of yours and start bashing them. After all, in close combat-_::

"The man with the sword does better than the man with the gun."

::_Exactly. Droid or not. Otherwise just shoot them from a distance. That'll work . . . if they're not shielded._::

"Great. Some of them have shields?" She ducked under a rock.

::_Yeah. Some of them have mining shields - brought them in on a run from Telos a few days ago. The shields are weak, but absorb some laser fire._::

Trista pulled her hand off her mining laser with a sigh, drawing her vibrosword. "Up close it is, then."

::_Just be careful, all right? And look, there should be some central controller down there. See if you can find a terminal, and you might be able to shut the droids down entirely._::

"Hm." She ducked under another rock. "Apparently you are capable of good ideas."

::_I have them occasionally. No need to make a show out of it._:: He clicked off the line and she snapped it back to her belt, creeping forward.

She ran into her first mining droids, the same type she'd encountered upstairs, and quickly sliced through them. They seemed to be heat-sensing, and that masked her until she got close enough to slice at them. There were a few small sensor balls, but there was too much static for her to ask Atton what they were. However, considering that they seemed to repair the larger droids she made it a point to throw her vibrosword through them immediately before pulling it back to her and taking out the larger droids.

Feeling combat return to her was a strange thing. It wasn't that she _hadn't_ fought in the years since Malachor V, because she _had_. It was just that she'd never fought with the Force again, and as realization of it slowly trickled back to her she found herself still too terrified to reach out and touch it. She used it once or twice - disabling a mining droid as it attempted to crush her skull after knocking her down, or throwing a smaller sensor droid into the ceiling to shatter it. She was too terrified to reach out further, to let herself be fully submerged in it, and she didn't know what sort of emergency would take her being pushed back to her old life.

But if what Kreia said was true-

::_It is._::

If Kreia truly believed that -

::_It is not a matter of believing it, Exile. I have seen it._::

_Since_ Kreia seemed completely convinced - an exasperated sigh trailed through her mind - that there was something hunting her it likely meant they could use the Force. Perhaps a meeting with one of them would shock her out of her own trepidation enough to dive back into the Force with both feet. But until then she would fight it.

She hadn't used the Force to destroy Malachor V, that was for sure. But she'd felt it die. Every death, every crush of the generator as it had activated . . . and just before she'd lost consciousness she'd felt it snap. And when she'd woken up with Revan at her bedside, maskless and concerned for the well-being of the only family she'd ever known, she'd just _known_. And she'd sworn to walk away from everything. The Jedi, the Sith, wars, whatever, it didn't matter. She just wanted to be left alone.

::_You knew that would never happen, foolish girl. And reflecting on your past is a waste of precious time. You should be continuing on to what that fool on the administration level suggested._::

"The droid controller?" Trista murmured.

::_Yes. You do not need to speak aloud either. I can hear you perfectly well._::

"Are you just . . . riding about up there, then?" Trista paused her thoughts to destroy several more mining droids and use her heat shield to pass through a section of superheated air.

::_If you are asking if I've made myself a nest or a den in your mind like some creature, then no. I have not. However, you are serving as the eyes I no longer have, especially when apart._::

"If you're going to be a semi-permanent fixture, I'd like to know what you are."

::_Perhaps another time. Swiftly. I fear our enemy draws ever closer._::

Trista broke into a vast, circular room. Mining droids scurried about outside the perimeter, a small central platform in the center over a steep drop. When she looked over the railing, Trista couldn't tell how far it went. But ignoring the droids - unable to sense her from the heat that pressed down like a ton of bricks onto her - she hurried forward and reached the terminal.

After her first failed attempt to hack it she reached into a pocket and produced a computer spike, swiftly breaking into the computer. A few commands shut down the droids, complete with a cacophony of clunking noises around the room, and the the containment fields.

She moved on. Fuel strongly tinted the air, singing the inside of her nose. Her stomach, currently holding little more than a few stale ration bars and residual kolto, churned with the scent.

As she entered the plated tunnel that would lead to the nearest turbolift, her comm chirped again. She opened it. "Mr. Rand?"

::_What the hell are you doing down there?_::

Trista blinked. "I'm sorry . . . What?"

::_The fuel levels in there have skyrocketed. That entire place is going to blow, with you in it! You need to hurry up and get out of there._::

"Oh." She broke into a jog. "Can you contain it?"

::_Not for where you are, no. I'm shutting down the lift to the administration level, but you need to get out of there._::

"Copy. I'm almost ou-" The comm died in a blaze of static, and she broke into a dead sprint for the turbolift that was her goal.

Trista felt the heat of the blast on her back as she made it into the lift, the doors slamming closed and the device flying upwards before she could grab something to hold on to, the force of it throwing her back against a wall. The blast wave traveled up the tunnel, and she hoped the protective blast doors to the airlock weren't already closed. Just in case they were closing, though, she pried the doors open to wait for the exit, standing back as the durasteel walls whipped by.

The elevator slowed the smallest bit as they approached the maintenance landing, and Trista could tell that the blast would rocket it past even if the doors weren't closed. Though the action made her stomach church and throat tighten -

::_Of all the Jedi the only survivor is melodramatic._::

-she focused, slowing down her sensation of the world. The elevator still rocketed, the explosion still came but they did so slowly, as if they were merely a vid played in slow-motion. The first gap of light appeared in the top of the door and knowing that the slightest miscalculation could be fatal, Trista drew a breath and sprinted forward as the gap between the doors slowly shrank and the light from the landing grew steadily brighter.

She had thrown herself so she ended up rolling, the air knocking out of her with the less-than-graceful slam, and she lay there for a few moment as things began to move in real-time again and her lungs slowly stopped protesting the gradual return of air. Her hand fumbled for the comm link, finally locating it and the switch and drawing it up to her mouth. She coughed to clear her throat.

"Mr. Rand," she asked into it. Nothing but static answered her. "Mr. Rand? Atton?" All she received was static, and she slowly picked herself up. She must still have been too deep in the asteroid.

Trista pulled herself back to her feet, leaning against a doorframe to catch her breath and closing her eyes for the briefest of seconds. A few seconds later she lurched in surprise when a voice suddenly sounded behind her.

"Excitedly: Oh, master, it is so good to see you unharmed."

She jerked around, one hand gripping her vibrosword. She lowered it when she spotted the speaker, a silvery-plated protocol droid that looked disturbingly familiar though she couldn't place where or how or why it was disturbing, just that it was. "I'm not your master," she replied hesitantly.

"Correction: Oh, yes you are. My former master was the captain of the _Harbinger_ and with his untimely demise I'm afraid it passes to the last living passenger, which would be you. Therefore, you are indeed my master."

"Have you been active the past three days?" Trista queried.

"Supplication: Yes, master, I have indeed."

"Fill me in on what occurred, please?"

She listened patiently, growing more suspicious of the droid's statements that thinly veiled his involvement in the course of recent events. Finally finished the arduous tale of just how she'd gotten from the _Harbinger_'s medical bay to the Peragus medical bay, she was entirely convinced that the droid had done something to the staff of the facility and was certainly not to be trusted.

"All right," she said finally. "I'm working on leaving this rock, but I need to get to the dormitories."

"Comforting statement: Oh, master, I'm afraid I can't help you. You see, the only way from here to the dormitories is through the administration level which, it appears, is locked down."

Trista chewed on her lip. "Well there must be another way. Perhaps across the asteroid?"

"Shocked warning: Absolutely not, master! You would first need to acquire a spacesuit, which I doubt will be possible. And even then, the airlock is voice-locked."

"Who voice-locked it?"

The droid subtly nodded his head to a mangled body nearby. Trista blinked. "That's out, then. But you're a protocol droid. Can't you mimic voices?"

"Protest: Oh, no, master, that would violate the ethical programming droids are believed to possess!"

She sighed. "Fine. There has to be something around here I can find. Don't . . . go anywhere, all right?"

"Acknowledgment: Truly, there is no where to go, master."

#

Atton sat in his chair, arms crossed and feet up on the terminal. He hadn't heard from his . . . not friend, but . . . acquaintance maybe? . . . for hours. Though that was probably an exaggeration.

He hadn't found any of his personal belongings, which annoyed him. And he didn't do well with silence. Silence meant too much time spent brooding or thinking and, for a man who wouldn't admit to running from his past, brooding was dangerous. He needed something to think about before his thoughts strayed too far.

Running his tongue over the burn on his finger - he'd used his cell's electrical field to distract him after the facility had gone dark, which had left what he hoped wouldn't be a permanent loss of feeling - he let his mind wander, which inevitably meant it would find its way back to what he was trying to avoid.

A Jedi, though. Of all the people to run into when he was actively avoiding them, it had to be a gods damned Jedi. A pretty one, at that, which merely made everything worse. Which one, though? After they'd been all but destroyed there hadn't been reports of Jedi anywhere, though it was rumored that the Republic knew something about the location of one or two. From the estimates that had surfaced, there were maybe twenty that escaped whatever had all but destroyed the entire Order. Three had remained visibly active, while the rest had gone underground - and all three had been found on Coruscant, dead, not long after the Temple had emptied. Maybe she was one of the fifteen or so that had disappeared?

But even _that_ was confusing. He admitted he knew too much about how the Jedi were organized. He'd had to, once. A Padawan was easier to break than a Knight, and a Knight easier than a Master. He put her at about thirty, maybe edging near forty, which placed her solidly in Knight territory and possibly verging on Masterhood, but . . . there was something strange about it. She didn't act like any Jedi he'd ever seen, even without the underwear stunt. For one, she hadn't tried to do any mind-reading yet, which was unlike most of the ones he'd met. He'd resorted to his mental shield just to be safe, but at the same time . . . he didn't know. Things seemed harder with her. He found himself wanting to agree with her, to do whatever she told him . . .

He shook himself. He was better than this. He was a professional. Or had been, once. Not some slack-jawed lackey who followed every order he was given.

He'd run, after all, hadn't he?

At the same time there was something eerily familiar about her. He didn't think they'd ever met in person and he would remember her if they had - of that he was certain. While his type in recent years had been more along the lines of "breathing," he could admit when "stunning" decided to fall into his lap. Despite the fact that her hair was loose, scraggly and tangled from days in a kolto tank, and her color was a deathly pale and her eyes still a tired, dull, pale blue he was sure that after some actual food and a shower she'd probably put a fairly large number of women, including Twi'leks, in the galaxy to shame.

But that was it. He wanted her, of course. He was sure a large number of people did, male or female or whatever variation existed in certain species. But he was finding it difficult to throw up the lust he usually did when around a Jedi.

For some reason that emotion had always worked better than the others, he'd found.

Unconsciously Atton found a hand playing with the knife he'd located and drew it away like he'd touched the field around his cell. Nope. He wasn't going to do that. He'd left for a reason and while he didn't particularly regret his actions, he didn't necessarily want to get back into the old torture/mutilation business either.

And for some reason, especially not where _she _was concerned.


	5. Chapter 4

**4**

Trista headed back to the other room, the small sonic device clenched in her hand. So the droid wanted to play hard to get, did he? If this worked, she'd be gone. She wasn't entirely thrilled about being stuck in the droid maintenance area with a droid she was fairly certain had nearly brought down an entire mining facility. Alone. With no orders to keep her alive.

"Greetings: Master, it is good to see you intact." She was convinced the droid had been lurking in the other room waiting for her to come back, which was again a little disturbing. "How may I be of assistance?"

"I want to know more about this voiceprint protocol," she replied immediately.

"Condescending explanation." She glared at him. "Master, the console governing the droid maintenance area and the airlock is voice printed. The droid mechanic grew increasingly paranoid as the malfunctions became more widespread, and created the protocol as a last resort."

She tried not to look over at the body.

"Leave condescending out of your vocabulary from now on," she ordered. "Now what was the code?"

"Protest: But, Master, it will be useless without-"

"Tell me the code," she said, trying not to speak through gritted teeth.

"Hesitant explanation: The code is 'Maintenance Control: Voiceprint ID: R1-B5,' but unless the maintenance officer speaks the code, it is useless."

Trista glanced at the torn body nearby. "Were you here when he was killed?"

"Answer: Yes, master. At the end he was quite incoherent from the pain, and attempts to facilitate communications with him proved useless."

"Do you have a record of it?"

"Recitation: Oh yes, master. The record of his last moments were: 'five droids . . . burning through the outer door . . . they're forcing their way into the bay . . . please, someone, the-'"

"That's enough of that," Trista interrupted, holding up her hand. "Now if you can play back his voice, can't you speak the voice code?"

"Objection: Again, master, that would violate the ethical programming droids are believed to possess! I am afraid there is nothing that can be done."

"Only believed to possess?"

"Irritated statement: Master, if you insist on echoing everything I say, this already tedious conversation is in danger of becoming even longer."

"Fair enough." Her finger tensed on the sonic sensor.

"Clarification: But, yes, most droids are believed to possess such programming, and it would prevent me from using my incredible talents to break a voiceprint code."

"Yes, these 'incredible talents.'" She raised her hand, arching her fingers as if quoting the phrase. "See, I understand what you're saying. It's really that your limited programming _keeps_ you from speaking the voiceprint code, not this 'ethical programming' you keep scapegoating. It's all right, you can admit to your inadequacy."

"Offended objection: Master, there is nothing wrong with my communications functionality. I will prove it." There was a click, almost like an organic throat-clear. "Recitation." His output changed immediately as Trista's thumb flicked the sonic imprint sensor to life. "'Maintenance control: Voiceprint ID: R1-B5.' There. Was that quite satisfactory?"

She nodded with a quiet smile. "Yes, I believe that will be all I need."

"Query: I'm sorry, what was that, master?"

"Oh, nothing." She nodded, touching a finger to her forehead as she turned away. "Nothing at all."

#

Atton breathed a sigh of relief when his terminal registered Trista coming back online. He quickly checked the facility map to see her location and . . . what?

"Glad to see you back," he said. "I lost your signal after you left the mining tunnels again. Now you're clear. But I'm seeing you on the outside of the facility - tell me that can't be right." The smallest wave of panic hit him. If she was taking a spacewalk . . . she likely hadn't found a suit, and that meant her idiotic Jediness had accidentally walked out an airlock or something.

::_Your readings are correct. Anything to report?_::

He looked up. Someone in a silver spacesuit was standing outside his window, the impassioned silver helmet facing his direction. He rolled his eyes.

"You are absolutely insane, you realize that?"

::_The miners stopped reporting in. I have evidence that there is a poison-gas problem in the dormitories. I must reach them._::

Curse that Jedi nobility. "And what about us, are you just-"

::_Don't be stupid. One of the supervisors possesses the codes we'll need to get into the hangar bay. Besides, this was the only way for me to make it back to the administration level, after you locked the fuel tunnels off._::

"Yes, of course, always my fault. Look, you're crazy, even for a Jedi."

::_All right._:: Trista held up her hand. ::_For the record, I am _not_ a Jedi. In fact, I never want to be called one again, understood? It caused all the problems here and I haven't even been one for nearly a decade._::

"Yeah. Right. Look, you need to get out of there, fast."

::_I'm trying to pick up the pace, believe me._::

"It's not that. Whatever's left of the facility's venting systems have gone active, most likely from the explosions in the mining tunnels. They're venting Peragus fuel deposits through the exterior vents - right at _you._ But it's weird. It's like it's only happened recently, probably since you got out there."

::_Damn it._:: He looked up. ::_Mr. Rand, I have to warn you. There's a potential hostile in there. A droid. I just left droid maintenance and it was there, but it isn't a protocol droid. I don't know what it is, but watch yourself._::

"You think a droid is doing this?"

::_He seemed intent on keeping me either there or in medbay._::

"Wait." Atton held up a hand. "What did it look like?"

::_Can this wait? I'm a little exposed out here._::

"Just really fast."

::_It looked like a protocol droid, more angular and robust. I'd say it was built for combat. Silver._::

"Weird speech patterns?"

::_Yes. Definitely._::

"Shit. That's an HK-50 droid. They're bounty hunters - probably after you."

A sigh came through the comm. ::_Great. Well, watch yourself. A droid will have a far easier time making it through to you than I am._::

"Hopefully it'll be more interested in you, so watch your back. I'll see what I can do to reroute the venting systems, but I'm locked out of the main systems, so I'm not sure I'll be able t-" Something chirped on the console and he opened the screen that popped up. "Shit."

::_What now?_::

"There's a ship coming in transmitting a docking code." He shook his head. "I have a bad feeling about this."

Trista looked over her shoulder, the suit turning with the motion. Through the asteroid field broke a Hammerhead-class capital ship, silently gliding to the docking tube. It extended to the main airlock, and the ship's sideways thrusters slid it into place. The airlocks merged, and she looked to her left as a fuel tube extended to refuel the ship.

::_Mr. Rand, did a name come up?_::

"It's a Republic capital ship . . . the _Harbinger_."

::_Shit_.:: He blinked as he looked up. ::_I'm going to hurry this up. Be careful, I don't know what's on that ship._::

"Right. I can bar the forward airlocks - it'll take them a little longer to come in. Just . . ." He looked up. "Be careful?"

She tapped her hand to the front of her helmet and hurried off - or rather hurried as much as one could when in a vacuum.

Atton left his console at a sprint, running for the airlock between the docking tube and the facility proper. It was still closed, and he hurriedly looked around for inspiration. Several deactivated mining droids were piled nearby, and he had what he considered to be a fairly good idea. He tore several pieces off the droids, using them to jam the airlock's mechanisms. It was a temporary fix, but it would work for the time being.

Meanwhile, Trista hurried down the scaffolding. Her suit took some damage from the vents but it only appeared to be cosmetic, and she quickly shed it as soon as she was inside the airlock.

As with the rest of the facility, the dormitories were full of nothing but rogue mining droids and dead bodies. She destroyed the droids and looked through pockets for the codes, though the action disgusted her. She hated raiding bodies, but sometimes it was necessary. Like now.

She found no one alive in the dormitories, but she did find the codes for the hangar bay and the turbolift to the administration level. Holding the two datapads tight in one hand, she made her way back to the lift. At the terminal there she entered the code, only to receive a flashing red "Incorrect" in reply. She frowned, then let her eyes flicker to the _Holorecording_ button, light flashing. Pursing her lips, she pressed it.

Behind her, over the three bodies, loomed three men - bearing distinct similarity to the mangled corpses below. ::_All right. Almost everyone is locked down here in the dormitories,_:: one man said.

She recognized the answering voice as that of the droid maintenance officer. ::_I've noticed. I'm contacting you because I'm picking up a subspace transmission on that level - is that your doing?_::

::_No, they - they must be using the old relay system to send an emergency signal. I doubt they really know what's going on._::

One of the holoimages nearly walked through her, and she quickly stepped to the side. ::_Hey. This turbolift's shut down._::

::_Try the code again - and don't worry about the miners and their transmission. By the time help arrives we'll be all the way to Nar Shaddaa._::

Trista swallowed. All the way there - likely with her unconscious or otherwise rendered immobile somewhere on their ship. And with the reputation of miners, with who-knew-what happening to her on the way.

::_Oh, they won't be leaving the dormitories. The explosion within the tunnel has damaged the ventilation systems, causing breaches in the core exhaust conduits._::

No, that wasn't the droid maintenance officer . . .

::_But that will kill them all!_::

::_Not all of them. But I'm sending a number of mining droids to your position to correct that problem._::

::_What? You ass!_:: She assumed he was Coorta.

::_Coorta, the code's not working!_:: The man next to her was panicking, and Trista swallowed as her eyes flickered around the scene.

::_Keep trying it! Wh-why are you doing this? Why me?_::

::_It was never about you. The Jedi is all that interests me. But then you had to ruin everything by revealing her identity, and then trying to harm her. And that I cannot allow._:: The next statement made her blood freeze. ::_Statement: You are a risk, Coorta. You are impulsive, crude . . . And soon, deceased._::

Trista closed her eyes and ducked her head as gunfire and screaming took over the holorecording. She'd left Kreia and Atton alone with a homicidal droid - she needed to get back there. She turned back to the terminal, taking a deep breath as concern clenched her stomach. No, she needed to stay calm. She needed to not panic. Panicking would do nothing.

::_Mocking query: Coorta, Coorta? Are you dead yet? Smug statement: I believe I forgot to mention that I reversed the turbolift codes in case you managed to get this far._::

Smug bastard. But at least that gave her the answer she needed, as she shut off the holorecording for good and plugged in the right code this time.

The turbolift ride was a short one, and she hurried down the short hallway. As the doors opened she jerked to a stop, finding Kreia blocking her way. "I have felt a disturbance," she said. "Our enemy is here. We must leave at once."

"Who are we fighting?" Trista asked. "I must know."

"Now is a time for action, not questions," Kreia snapped. "But the one that fired upon the _Ebon Hawk_ as we attempted to rescue you is here and he will not let us go without bloodshed. He will especially not allow you to escape twice."

Trista sighed heavily and drew her vibrosword. "All right then. If we have to hurry, then we should."

As they broke into a dead sprint. "We must make our way to the docking area on this level," Kreia explained. "I fear the airlock has opened and if so, we must be on our guard."

"Mr. Rand was securi-"

"Whatever this _Mr. Rand_ did to the airlock will have only been temporary, and is of no concern. If we cannot reach the _Ebon Hawk_, then we must find a way to escape on the ship that has docked here."

"Why are you so interested in this _Ebon_ _Hawk_?"

"I am something of a scholar," she replied shortly. "Besides, is it not what we are supposed to do - utilize the items left to us by those who used them before?"

"Right," Trista said. "I'll take your word for it."

#

Atton had made himself a nice little barricade around the administration consoles. He was quite proud of it, in fact. After Trista had warned him about the droid and he'd deduced that the ship was obviously carrying _very_ good friends of hers, he'd decided that the best offense was a good defense.

An advanced mining laser he'd cannabilized from a destroyed droid was propped up on the wall made of chairs and droids as he peered through a peephole, waiting. Trista had yet to contact him again, and he seriously hoped she hadn't gotten herself killed.

He was snapped back to alert when two men appeared from thin air, and his stomach dropped to his feet. If that was what was being sent out after Trista, they had a hell of a bigger problem than he'd originally thought. If she'd been out of known space for a while, and hadn't fought in the Jedi Civil War - well, she'd have absolutely no idea what she was dealing with, even less than most Jedi had.

Atton leveled the mining laser, bulky and awkward like a blaster rifle, on the barricade and fired at the man whose back was to him. He snapped around, and Atton fired again, this time sending the round straight through the man's head. The other had almost reached the barricade, hefting his vibrostaff high. Atton blocked the first blow with the mining laser, kicking up under his guard to push him back. Knocking the blade aside again, he ducked the return swing, jammed the active end of the mining laser into the man's sternum and fired.

Just as he fell to the floor, dead, Atton heard running steps and looked up as Trista and an unknown woman turned the corner. They stopped dead, Trista looking slightly surprised and the woman too damn unreadable.

"What in space is going on?" Atton snapped in their direction. "And who's that? Another Jedi? Did you guys start breeding when I wasn't looking?" Trista sighed.

"Mr. Rand, Kreia, Kreia, Atton Rand. What happened?"

"These are whatever friends of yours crawled out of that ship," Atton replied.

Trista, much to Kreia's apparent impatience, nudged one of the bodies curiously with her foot. "What are they?"

"There is no time to-"

"There _is_ time, gods-damn it," Trista snapped. "My vision is still blurry, I smell like kolto, I need a shower, I really want everyone to stop thinking I'm something I'm not, and I have had a _very_ trying day. Someone tell me who the hell these people are."

Atton swallowed, glaring at Kreia. "They're assassins. Sith ones. Trained to kill Jedi. The Force doesn't work on them. It's bad news, for us."

"I hope your talent for understatement is offset by your skill with a blaster."

He glared back at Kreia. "I'm also good at running and drinking, your majesty."

"All right, fine," Trista interrupted again. "Assassins trained to kill Jedi, good, fine. Let's go." She turned on her heel, then paused, and shrugged out of Atton's jacket. Trista handed it back to him with a weak smile, and he returned it. "Thank you."

"No problem."

Kreia cleared her throat and, with a half-glare at her, Trista started out towards the _Harbinger_'s airlock.

"It is a miracle you were capable enough to kill two at once," Kreia said as they followed her. Atton glared at her.

"They're trained to fight Jedi, not me." He resisted the urge to inform her that he _knew_ how they fought and operated and, if she _really_ wanted to test him . . . _Play a minus-5, brings total back to 20. New game, draw a 8, opponent draws a 10 . . . _"At least we have a clear run to the shi-"

"Threat."

They stopped dead as the silver HK-50 droid stepped out from the airlock, blaster rifle held with the barrel pointing straight at them.

* * *

**A/N:** ... almost ... off ... Peragus ...


	6. Chapter 5

**5**

At the droid's mechanical voice they stopped dead. If Trista noticed that Atton seemed to position himself a few inches in front of her, almost shielding her, she didn't comment.

"Statement: Master, perhaps I was unclear the last time we spoke. I suggested that you should shut down, stay put, and wait for rescue."

"No, you were clear," Trista replied. "But after all those deaths you've caused, I'd say _rescue_ is hardly an appropriate term."

"Correction: I am not here to argue semantics master, so I will simply inform you that you, and those recently-corrected miners, are wrong."

"I don't need lectures on right and wrong from an assassin droid," she replied sharply.

The HK-50 droid seemed slightly amused. "Clarification: 'Assassin droid' is such a crude term, master, reserved for durasteel drones uploaded with only the most archaic of kill-programs. The function I perform has been referred to as . . . 'wanton slaughter.' I prefer-"

"I don't care," Trista interrupted. He was blocking their path to the airlock, and she was not in the mood for further delay. "Who sent you? Who is after me? And why?"

"Answer: It is beyond the scope of my programming to probe the motivations of my clients, master. Suffice to say that I am being well-compensated. You have been a difficult target to find. It is as if you did not wish to be found . . . by hunters such as myself or, more likely, the Jedi Order."

"Obviously I didn't do a good enough job," she replied sharply. "Who hired you?"

"Chiding answer: My programming renders me incapable of revealing the identity of my client, master. However, I _am_ free to say that my client is wealthy, and very interested in possessing the last of the Jedi."

"We do not have time for this," Kreia hissed. Trista straightened, hand tight on her vibroblade.

"I have no desire to fight you, but I will not surrender either," she said.

"Resignation: Very well, master. If inflicting pain is the only means to resolve this matter, then you leave me no choice." He raised his rifle, and Atton pulled Trista out of the way as he fired. From this close the smell of kolto was even harsher, and he crinkled his nose.

Trista rolled back to her feet with a glance back at Kreia, who was standing nearly motionless. A panel in the ceiling above the droid was trembling slightly, and Trista quickly moved to distract him from it. Throwing her vibrosword, an act that dented the droid's chassis, she pulled it back to her with the Force and sprinted forward. Atton shook his head and returned the droid's fire with his mining laser as she rolled to come up near it, slamming the sword into the droid's rifle with enough force to render the barrel inoperable. Her next strike was parried by his arm, casting off a shower of sparks, then countered with one that damaged an optic.

:: Move. ::

She jumped and rolled backwards, narrowly avoiding disaster as the ceiling panel and about a ton of rock held between it and the atmospheric shield that surrounded the dormitories and the administration level slammed into the droid.

"I cannot guarantee that it is destroyed," Kreia said as she turned on her heel, starting towards the airlock to the _Harbinger_. "But we should hurry nonetheless."

Atton scowled at her back and helped Trista to her feet. "You all right?"

"Fine. But she is right." Trista sheathed her vibrosword with a sigh. "I don't think we have much time."

#

"I sense no one on board."

That was Kreia's first comment upon entering the _Harbinger_. It didn't take the Force for Atton or Trista to agree that no one was aboard - the ship was silent, almost ghostly.

"You 'sense' no one on board? Sense any assassins creeping up behind us like last time?" Atton retorted.

"Silence, fool," she replied. "Everyone here has been slain, but there are no signs of battle."

"The assassins Atton ran into," Trista said.

"I fear you are correct. We should be on our guard."

"Ugh. We were better off in the facility." Atton ran a hand through his hair. "You two are supposed to be Jedi? You're the worst Jedi I've ever met."

"Maybe you'd like it back in your cell," Trista said, peering down a hallway.

"Maybe I would! At least I was safe there."

"Until the assassins pulled down the forcefield protecting you," she reminded him. He made a face.

"We cannot go back into the facility. And if the droid you spoke to was correct we cannot reach the hangar - be silent, I need some time to think."

"Wait," Atton hissed. "How did she know about-"

"I said silence, fool."

Atton looked at Trista, who shrugged helplessly. At least she didn't seem any more comfortable around her than he did.

"I'll save you the trouble," Trista interrupted, holding up her hand. "There was a fuel tube that extended when this vessel docked. It should connect us to the hangar, bypassing the force field."

"Look, I don't want to cast another shadow on this _very_ bright plan," Atton said. "But even if you could reach the hangar it wouldn't matter. You need the asteroid drift charts, unless you want to have the shortest flight out of Peragus ever recorded."

"This ship docked, did it not?" Kreia asked. "They likely possess the drift charts themselves."

"They'd be on the bridge, and this ship is probably crawling with assassins and . . . Well, that's the biggest problem I see."

"It is a sound plan for the moment. We should proceed."

Trista glanced between Kreia and Atton and started towards the bridge.

#

::_We've lost track of the _Harbinger_, sir._::

Admiral Carth Onasi attempted not to pace at his holoterminal.

The _Harbinger_ had gone dark for days, only to be officially declared missing. But they had the _Ebon Hawk._ His ship - _Revan's_ ship, more importantly.

Revan, who had disappeared four years earlier without a trace. Then the _Hawk_ just showed up, reporting damage and now the ship responding was gone again?

He didn't like it. And he didn't like the fact that he felt so close to finding _her_ only to have it ripped away in a second once again.

That she had fallen was the farthest thought in his mind. He considered it far more likely that something had been hunting her, and they had forced the _Harbinger_ silent. That the ship had been carrying the last known Jedi in the galaxy apart from his two secret passengers was just another coincidence he didn't like.

"Did they contact us any further after picking up the freighter?"

::_No sir._:: The head of the search team shook his head. ::_They transmitted the ship's ID codes, and you ordered them to divert their course and pick it up. That was the last we heard._::

Dodonna was going to kill him if he lost a capital ship because of Revan.

"I want that ship located, Captain. Both of them."

::_Yes, sir._:: He saluted, and the hologram shimmered away. Carth turned on his heel.

"Contact me if anything changes."

"Right away, sir."

Carth turned and left the bridge, slicing his access card through a reader on a door close by. It opened, and he stepped through.

Bastila sat on one side of the table, head in her hands and looking, for all intents and purposes, as if she were asleep. His son was on the other side, reading through a datapad, and looked up as he entered.

"She all right?"

Dustil nodded. "Attempting to find her again. She says she can feel her, but she doesn't . . ."

"The bond is growing fainter," Bastila interrupted. She already looked like she had aged far more than the year they'd been kept safe on his ship. "She is getting further and further away."

"Is she-"

"I cannot tell, Carth, I'm sorry."

He nodded, looking down and sighing.

"Have you located the _Hawk_ again?"

"No," he replied softly. "The _Harbinger_ dropped off the screens as well."

Bastila pursed her lips, drawing a circle on the table. "This is a sign of whatever influence destroyed the Order on Katarr, I know it," she said quietly. "If only they would do _something_ to let us know who or what they are. They could be anything - from a remnant of Revan's empire to . . . something older."

She wouldn't say it, but if it was what Revan had thought might lurk out there, what she had gone after . . . they could be in an awfully large amount of trouble.

"Exar Kun's?"

"There is no way to know, without evidence." She lifted her head. "That means the Jedi Exile has also disappeared, does it not?"

He nodded. "She was aboard the _Harbinger._"

"Damn," Bastila hissed.

"What do you know about her?"

Bastila sighed. Dustil cleared his throat and raised his datapad. "Er . . . One of Revan's top generals in the Mandalorian Wars, single-handedly responsible for the victory at Malachor-Five-"

"She gave the order, then?"

"Yeah." Dustil shrugged and held up his datapad. "Exiled from the Jedi for no clear reason, disappears after that. That and a physical description is all I have."

"The Order rarely keeps familial records," Bastila interjected. "But the Exile - Trista Morace - is Revan's only known relative. Cousins. They were brought to the Temple at the same time, but I do not know the circumstances. I hadn't been surrendered to the Jedi myself. I'm not sure I'd been _born_."

"Then . . ." Carth looked between the two of them. "Why didn't she leave with Revan at the end of the war?"

"I do not know. But she surrendered herself to the Jedi for some reason and was exiled. Any records of why would have been inaccessible - even more so now that Atris cleaned out the Archives and took any information of value with her when she disappeared."

Carth sighed, standing. "All right. Let me know if you figure out anything, all right? We can't . . . we can't lose the Jedi."

"I know, Carth," Bastila replied sharply. "I am doing my best."

"I'm aware. I'm sorry." He sighed, turning to leave. "Dodonna's going to have my head for this."

#

::_We picked up a distress signal and are sending a message to the Republic for permission to investigate._::

Trista had only spoken to the Harbinger's captain once, but his voice was the first comfortingly familiar thing she'd heard in hours. Kreia had insisted on listening to the briefing logs, though as to why she didn't know.

"That was me, attempting to rescue you," she interjected quietly.

::_We have also transmitted the damaged vessel's ID signature to the Republic. According to the message, it's being pursued by Sith forces._::

"Was that true?"

"True enough."

::_There is no match for the vessel in our databanks, but the profile of the distress signal suggests a stock freighter of some kind. We'll only know for sure when we arrive. And we'll know if the signal is genuine or a fake. I am moving all personnel into battle positions for the moment, just to be safe._:: Something dinged on the console, and the image moved forward to study it before pressing a button. ::_Admiral._:: He saluted. Trista looked over her shoulder to see the shimmering hologram of another man, wearing a Republic admiral's uniform though with a sidearm conspicuously strapped at his side, over the holoprojector on the table. ::_Sir, we wanted to check with you before diverting course from Telos. There-_::

::_I'm aware, Captain._:: The man's voice was lightly throaty, and the most interesting combination of smooth and rough. ::_You have permission. If there is a Sith presence in the area I want you to investigate. The ID signature on the freighter - did you receive confirmation?_::

::_Yes, sir. We did not have the vessel listed in our databanks so we transmitted the codes to you - was there a match?_::

::_There was._:: There was the smallest flicker of something, just visible through the hologram - whatever match there had been, it'd not been in the databanks. ::_If you find any trace of that vessel, even wreckage, I want it. Understand?_::

::_Uh . . . yes, sir._::

::_After you've investigated the sector, resume course for Telos. It is of utmost importance that your passenger reach Citadel Station. I will be there to meet you._::

::_Yes, sir. I'll make sure she arrives unharmed._::

::_Good. Contact me for a debriefing after you've investigated the freighter. Admiral Onasi out._::

The captain sighed. ::_Sometimes I wonder if the right hand of the Republic knows what the left is doing._::

Trista stopped the recording and looked at Kreia. A small smile was toying over the woman's mouth, and she frowned. "Something amusing?"

"Nothing you would be aware of," Kreia replied. "We should proceed."

Atton rolled his eyes as he followed them out of the briefing room, gun at the ready.

Frakking Jedi.

#

Fetching the codes from the bridge was the admittedly easy part. Once they were found the trio headed back towards the lift to the crew deck, which would then take them to engineering. It seemed the Sith assassins were not too clever, or that they had deduced their plan and were actively moving elsewhere to intercept it, or - in what would be a spectacularly bad thing - their master had shown up and they were leaving the pesky not-Jedi and her friends for him.

They had made it a couple rooms down the hallway when she stopped, spotting her own door.

"We do-"

"I have supplies in here," she replied simply.

Kreia shrugged, but didn't say another word as she opened the door.

Trista hadn't carried much with her. So she was happy to find her bag still fully packed, tucked entirely into the footlocker at the end of her cot. She unzipped it, rummaging through the contents. Her coat, made out of her bastardized Jedi robe, patched repeatedly and shortened to sit at her hips rather than the floor; her change of clothes, also repeatedly patched but not as much or as badly as her coat. There were a series of supplies scattered about the bottom of her bag - a few single-use kolto bandages, some medpacks, a few antidote stims, a small stack of credits and computer spikes tucked into one of the seams for safekeeping. With a sigh she pulled out the only thing she even actually cared for anymore, a small wooden box that she opened so the contents could glint in the light.

Revan had given it to her when she had just passed her trials, though Revan hadn't explained how a sixteen year old Padawan had managed to either find it or buy it. That meant it'd probably been found on one of those nights that she and Alek had slipped out of the Temple to go exploring, and she'd probably won it in a game of dejarik or sabaac or purchased it with winnings from one of those games. It was a simple gold bracelet, hinged to snap completely around the wearer's wrist, carved with a design of a stylized krayt dragon holding a pearl in an outstretched foreclaw - something people had seen carved on gaffi sticks and fallen in love with. They'd never seen a krayt dragon in person, even after the beginning of the Mandalorian Wars, and it merely hearkened back to when they'd both be awake for hours in the Temple archives looking at pictures and discussing whether a krayt dragon could fly or what it would be like to ride one. Simple childish things, long before the agony of the Mandalorian Wars or Revan's own fall into darkness.

Trista swallowed the sudden threat of tears and snapped the bracelet around her wrist, locking it into place. It felt strange - she hadn't worn it since her exile, first because it had been too painful to remember and then because she no longer cared. But now that things were forcing themselves back onto her - the Force, mainly - she found a strange sort of comfort in it.

With a curt nod she closed her bag and swung it over her shoulder, stepping back into the hallway. Atton clearly noticed the red coloring her eyes, but merely responded by looking away. Kreia probably no longer even noticed such tedious things.

"Are you quite finished?"

"Finished enough," Trista replied quietly, turning to walk further into the ship.


	7. Chapter 6

**A/N: **Sorry for the delay in updates, I was struck with Real Life. It's a dangerous disease, everyone should avoid it.  
Finally, we're off Peragus. Telos is causing me some problems because, let's face it ... Telos. I'm hoping to only dedicate a few chapters to the actual station and gloss over most of the shit that doesn't happen on it, because let's face it - the only part of Telos anyone really likes at this point is gonna be a certain Academy, and that's only because Trista exists to piss off a certain Master.  
I love Bao-Dur as much as the next person, but god this planet is boring. (It shouldn't be this boring - I mean, come on! We could have had copious Carth Onasi!)

* * *

**6**

As they walked onto the engineering deck, it was almost as if the air was being sucked out of the entire level itself. Atton showed the first signs of panic, though Trista noticed that it came out in a trembling hand clutching a found pair of blasters closer rather than any attempts to flee. She recognized the feeling, though she dearly wished she didn't - the Force, again, this the darker side of it. Something wafted with power, but not just any power. Darkness. She was not at all ready for this.

But she wasn't going to die without a fight either, no matter how one-sided it would be. Trista gripped the hilt of her vibroblade and set her jaw, walking forward slowly.

"I have a bad feeling about this," Atton said quietly. She glanced back, about to comment, but stopped. She did too, and judging by the way the man was currently scanning their surroundings.

"Hush."

"So do I," Trista replied, ignoring Kreia's interjection.

"Something's going to get real wrong, real quick."

"Watch the back, all right?" She started forward again, eyes darting between the dim halls as they passed them. Atton hung close to her back, and she could feel more than see him continually turn his head to look back behind them.

"Trish!" He reached out and grabbed her arm, pulling her around. Kreia, of course, had already turned, her own found vibrosword clutched in her hands. She barely noticed that he still held her forearm after catching sight of what was following them.

Behind them, stepping through a door that closed with a clunk behind him, was a man. But it was a man in that at the same time it wasn't - even with her limited connection to the Force Trista could sense the death on him. But it wasn't the usual sense of death that most soldiers and warriors carried with them - it was as if death had attempted to claim him repeatedly, only for him to slip through its grasp at the last moment. As he grew closer - and this time she was _sure_ Atton was strategically positioning himself between her and him - she realized that his skin was the color of aged concrete rubble, cracked and broken with reddish-black muscle and necrotic-looking lesions covering his torso. One eye was a dead white, the entire orb exposed when the skin had crackled and peeled back from it.

"Someone didn't like him," Atton murmured. In spite of the fact that they were facing nearly certain death at the moment, Trista let a quiet laugh slip through her lips.

"I came to warn you, Jedi." His voice sounded much the same as his body looked - broken and dead and flat. "You know not the path you walk."

Kreia stepped forward, then turned back. "This battle is mine alone. I am not defenseless." She didn't seem in a hurry to make it back behind the only blast door that separated the approaching Sith Lord - because as she focused more Trista knew exactly what he was - but merely walked at a brisk pace towards it before turning back. "He cannot kill what he does not see, and he has long been blinded by power. I shall be along shortly."

"Kre-" Trista started, but the woman stepped through the door and slammed it behind her, and she let the name die on her lips. "Mr. Rand-"

"Right." He straightened and nodded. Trista winced when she heard, ever-so-faintly, a lightsaber ignite beyond the door, and fought down a bite of panic, . That blast door would only hold so long. "This way."

They ran first to the control room, unlocking the door to the engine and - more importantly - the fuel lines. It was a short sprint back to the engine room, as Trista again tried to pretend to not hear the lightsabers whirring behind the door.

The door to the engines was open when they found it, and they wasted no time making their way along the catwalks that hovered above the enormous pieces of machinery. When they found the main control terminal Atton hacked into it, and Trista turned back to face where they had come from. If the Sith Lord followed them, it would be better for her to face him then Atton.

Sith Lords tended to not be too tactically bright, after all. All she would need to do would be throw him - if she could stomach touching the Force enough for it - over the side into the engines, and hopefully death would finally catch up to him.

"Please tell me that we aren't actually doing this," Atton said. Trista glanced back.

"Going into the fuel lines? I don't have another plan, and there's a Sith Lord between us and the airlock."

Atton frowned. "Fair point. I just -"

"I've done far more insane things," she replied, though the thought hurt.

"I'm sure." He shook his head and straightened. "I'm going to regret this _so_ much."

Trista had taken a half-step into the fuel line when she suddenly shrieked in pain - a noise Atton had never expected to hear from her - doubling over at her waist and dropping her vibrosword as she fell to her knees, clutching her arm to her chest. He dropped with her, breath catching in his throat. "Trista. _Trista_, what's wrong - talk to me, dammit!" He cupped her face in her hands, drawing it back up from her chest. Her eyes were far distant, locked on a point he couldn't see, and as he slid his fingers to her pulse it was rapid and her breath sped exponentially. Shit.

His brain didn't, this time, seek to comment that the vein he was measuring took less than a pound of pressure to sever.

Atton hauled her to her feet, pulling her against his chest tightly as he encouraged her to take one step, then another. "Come on," he said through grit teeth, trying not to focus on the sudden snap of dried kolto that assaulted his senses, or the comfortable, warm way she fit right against his side. "It's not that much further. Come on."

As they entered the fuel pipe she gasped, and he snapped his head over as she pushed away from him and grabbed onto a railing. She looked entirely like she was going to retch, and without thinking he carefully pulled her hair back behind her shoulders. "You all right, sweetheart?"

"Fine," she snapped, closing her eyes. He took a step back, holding up his hands.

"What happened?"

"I don't know." She straightened and stared at her right hand for a few moments, then shook her head. "Let's just get going, all right?"

"Yeah." She strode forward into the fuel pipe, and he glanced over his shoulder before following.

He was getting attached. He should stop that, before it became a problem.

The pipe wasn't long, nor was it unshielded from space though the temperature dropped exponentially near the middle. But that meant that, when it warmed up, they knew they were nearing the maintenance hatch that would lead to the main facility and then, hopefully, the _Ebon Hawk._

There was still no sign of Kreia.

As they neared the hatch they could just make out a small, silver object that, as the headed towards it, clearly became a small, silvery-white Astromech droid, shut down with a few flickering lights indicating that it had been shut down forcefully and was attempting to restart itself. Trista knelt down next to it just in time to catch a near-silent _dwoo_.

"Looks like it's been hit with an ion charge and dumped here," Atton said, glancing behind him for what felt like the thousandth time. "Probably our assassin friend."

"T3-M4?" she asked gently, opening a panel to find the droid's startup switch. "Did the assassin droid do this to you?"

"_Told miners = don't trust_," it chirped sadly as she flipped the switch, and the droid flickered back to full power. "_T3 = thanks Jedi = very much._"

"You're welcome," she replied, patting it. "Can you travel with us? We must make it to the _Hawk._"

He rocked back and forth on his struts. "_T3 + Jedi + organic - Peragus = good._"

"Good." She chuckled and patted his metal top again, straightening. "We should hurry."

"Hey." Atton held up a metal box. "Is this important?"

T3 chirped and rocked on his struts again. "_That + console = hangar / T3 = needs._" He held up his manipulator arm, and Atton looked at Trista helplessly.

"He needs that to fix the hangar console," she translated. T3 chirped happily and spun his head.

"How do you understand that claptrap?" Atton asked, though he handed the box to the little droid. T3 chirped and tucked it inside a panel.

"I served with a lot of droids in the -" She stopped and cleared her throat. Droids had been one of the few things she and Revan had really gotten along over, especially near the end. "Never mind. It's not important."

She pushed out the hatch and dropped through, followed by T3. Atton shook his head.

"Yeah. Whatever." With another glance back into the fuel pipe, he dropped out after them.

#

T3 managed to repair everything, and they fought their way to the _Ebon Hawk_'s hangar with little problem. The ship's ramp was open, and Trista stared at the interior of the ship for the briefest second before turning back to Atton. "You can fly this thing, correct?"

Atton nodded. "I'll get her started up."

"I'll wait here for Kreia."

He looked like he was about to say something, but then merely nodded and hurried away. T3 chirped and she crouched down.

"Think you can make sure the repairs were done right?" He chirped happily and sped towards what she assumed was the engine room.

Trista stood at the ramp, her eyes closed. There was something about this ship. There was a lot of emotion and feeling - someone had loved this ship and on this ship, someone who had been strong enough in the Force for even her weak connection to detect it. Someone who, even to her at this moment, felt like -

_No_. Her eyes snapped open. That was . . . _completely_ and plausibly possible, with the Force tending to behave the way it did.

She decided she wouldn't turn her attention to the history of the ship she found herself on, opting instead to continue waiting for Kreia as the _Hawk_'s engines heated up, rumbling the hangar.

Trista finally caught sight of her hastily exiting the high-security hold they'd raided earlier and rushed to help her, though when they met halfway across the hangar deck Kreia shrugged off Trista's offer of assistance and hurriedly shuffled to the _Hawk_, her hand held pressed to her chest.

"I do not know if I was followed," she said as she limped, Trista still trying to help her. "We do not have time for this. We must leave, and quickly."

As soon as they both were off the ramp Trista slammed her hand into the raising mechanism to close it. "We're on, go!" she barked into the intercom as it slammed shut, answered by the ship shuddering as it lifted off its landing struts and pulled out of the hangar.

The ship rocked suddenly as they hurried into the cockpit, Atton's hands flying over the controls. Kreia sank into the other chair, leaving Trista to hold onto the center console. T3 bumped into her leg. "What was that?!" she asked.

"The _Harbinger_ opened fire on us," Atton snapped, reaching to hit a switch. The ship rocked again. "Son of a - if they hit us, we're dead. But if they keep missing up, we're dead! Those are great odds, sweetheart!"

"Call me that again and I'll show you 'great odds,'" Trista retorted as the ship lurched.

T3 bleeped out something too fast for her to understand, and Atton motioned behind him. "Someone shut that trash compactor up!"

"Can we get into hyperspace?" She was nearly sprawled over the console now, gripping it to stay upright. Something chirped on the ceiling - shields. Strange, usually freighters this small didn't have shields strong enough to block a capital ship's cannon . . . and they should have been damaged the last time the ship had been fired on.

"Not in this field, we'd enter hyperspace in pieces. Thing is, we clear the field and they get a perfect shot at us. We'd last a second against that!."

"T3, can you boost our shields?" Trista asked. The droid chirped and plugged into a terminal on console. "Atton, just keep as much distance between us and them as possible!"

"The asteroids can be destroyed by us as well as them, can they not?"

Atton glanced over at Kreia, almost wide-eyed. "And take out the whole field, the colony, and maybe even us? We might not even _get_ into hyperspace in time. Besides, I can just imagine the nightmare if the Republic gets their hands on us afterwards."

"Then we die here," Kreia retorted. "Or we suffer bureaucracy later."

"We're not destroying an entire fuel mining facility," Trista said as the ship rocked. "There's got to be another way. Just evade them until we make the jump to hyperspace."

"Go ahead and set up the coordinates." Atton pointed, and Trista opened up the terminal on the wall. The ship rocked, and she stumbled "All we've got is Telos so make it fast and now." He shook his head. "This is going to get a little rocky."

Atton whipped the ship around an asteroid, narrowly avoiding a blast from the _Harbinger_ and sending T3 sliding back into the hallway with a protesting shriek. He swept around another, sending Trista staggering with the hyperspace coordinates only half-inputted. She dove back when he whipped the other way, finishing the input as T3 rolled back in and magnetically sealed himself to the floor.

"Shit, there goes the neighborhood," Atton said, reaching for the lever for hyperspace. "Trish, hold on to something." She braced herself on the wall by the door. "Jumping to hyperspace in three . . . two . . . one!"

The space outside the windows suddenly stilled, and then shot to streaks of white, then blue as everything - the darkness of space and the whiteness of the stars - melded into one bright blur.

The cockpit was silent for a few seconds, then Atton spun in his chair and pointed accusingly at the not-Jedi peeling herself off the wall. "All right," he said, pointing between the two women. "Now that we've just killed a planet, how about one of you tells me what's going on? Because between assassin droids, a Sith Lord who looks like he sleeps with vibroblades, and having a Republic warship take potshots at us, I was safer back in my cell!"

Trista stared at him for another several seconds, wearing an expression that may have bordered on shock but somehow managed to not be. Kreia's hood, meanwhile, twitched when she shook her head. "Now that the facility has been destroyed, it was indeed safer to accompany us. If you do not like it, I am sure this ship has a suitable airlock by which to remove yourself."

Atton curled his lip. "Very funny, your highness."

"I'd like some answers too," Trista said quietly. Kreia nodded, and Atton noticed that her attitude almost immediately changed.

"The Republic warship was the _Harbinger. _It was seized on its way to Telos by the Sith - they sought you, Jedi."

"The next person," Trista replied, voice nearly a growl. "Who calls me that will be severely injured."

Kreia chuckled. "I highly doubt that will be the case, Jedi, but continue your delusion if you must." Atton hadn't seen someone deflate so quickly before, though Trista hid it well as she crossed her arms and leaned back on the galaxy map. "And I fear it will become all the more common. The Sith believe you to be the last of the Jedi. Once you are dead, they will have won."

"Well, they're sorely mistake, whoever they are," Trista replied. "I'm . . . retired, as it were."

"You cannot just retire from the Jedi. Do not lie to the poor fool, his mind will not extrapolate the information to its logical conclusion."

"Hey," Atton protested. "I don't _have_ to fly your wrinkled ass to Telos, you know."

"Both of you, just _stop_," Trista interjected. "What happened to the Jedi?"

"Revan won the Jedi Civil War, whether she knew it or not. It destroyed the Jedi. By the end barely a hundred, including Revan, survived. Many fell in battle, and many more had been seduced by her earlier teachings."

"Then what happened to them?"

"They began to die. Slowly, one by one, then many all at once. Then, they disappeared. To where, no one knows."

"But Dantooine, and the Temple-"

"Dantooine is a crater echoing with the ghosts of dead Jedi, courtesy of your friend, Malak. And the Jedi Temple lies empty, abandoned out of fear. If any Jedi are there, they have not been seen for years."

Trista rubbed her eye with her palm. She may not have been a Jedi but she'd left friends in the Order - friends who were now, likely, dead. "Revan was responsible for her own fall," Trista said heavily. "But if there are any survivors we must warn them. If the Sith believe I am still a Jedi then when presented with _real_ Jedi -"

"If any are alive they are Jedi no longer. If the Sith have not found and slain them then they will not help you, nor can you help them."

"Unity is a Jedi's best defense. It's why t-"

"In this case, that is not so."

Trista decided that attempting to argue with her would only waste time, and she just wanted a shower - and soon. "Then why was I being taken to Telos?"

"The recovery effort. Many roads lead to Telos - including ours."

"Not that we had much of a choice." Atton had spun the pilot's chair around and settled back down. "The Peragus astrogation charts being what they are."

"It is where we must go," Kreia insisted, though she seemed unwilling to elaborate.

"Then how did you know where I was?"

"Intercepted transmissions. A rough description of you still exists in some databases, if you search the correct ones. General Trista Morace was never forgotten to the Republic, even if she was to the Jedi."

Trista scowled, missing Atton quietly raising an eyebrow. He'd wondered about the similarity of the names, and had actually guessed that _this_ was _the_ General Morace. After all, the highest ranked of the Jedi had been known by name and rote description in the lower ranks, but nothing more. And only Revan and Malak could have been picked out of a holo.

"You were difficult to find," Kreia continued. "But once I realized you were aboard the _Harbinger_, I knew the Sith would not be far behind. I did not realize that they were already on board. Just as we prepared to make the jump to hyperspace, they fired upon us, and nearly destroyed this ship."

"And I was unconscious during this?"

"Yes. I was rendered nearly dead during our escape, however - I do not know how we found Peragus."

T3 chirped happily. "_T3 = repaired ship / T3 = flew to closest repair station._"

"Be silent, we are trying to have a conversation," Kreia chided. The droid replied with an unflattering noise.

"No, no, he's saying he repaired the ship enough to get us to Peragus."

"Repaired my eye," Atton said. "Next thing you know it's going to claim credit for saving our skins." T3 replied with a raspberry in the pilot's direction. He held up his hands. "If you say you repaired the ship you can prove it by doing it again. Go on, get!" T3 made a similarly unflattering noise, but turned and rolled out of the cockpit.

"This is all an incredibly unusual set of circumstances." Trista's face was resting in one hand now, her eyes heavily lidded.

"Yes. But to one trained in the Force you know that true coincidences are quite rare."

Trista ignored that comment. "So now what? We got away from them once, I doubt it will be so easily done a second time."

"And that is not an easy question to answer," Kreia replied. Trista sighed. Of course it wasn't. "This threat is greater than you yet understand, and I do not believe it is a battle that can be fought."

"Any battle can be fought," Atton retorted. "Now, living long enough to get out of it's the tough part."

"So what do we do?"

"Enough with this 'we', already."

Kreia replied to Atton with a long-suffering look before returning her hooded face to Trista. "We cannot hope to defeat them alone. You will need weapons, allies, and a teacher. In the end it may not be enough, I fear."

"Any enemy can be fought and killed."

"You fought in the Mandalorian Wars and it cost you everything - your companions, your family, even the Force. Will you sacrifice as much again?"

She wasn't going to question how she knew about the 'family' part, and decided to figure that she wasn't speaking about Revan and was merely commenting on the Jedi. Unconsciously, her finger tapped on her bracelet. "If it has to be done, yes. But this is self-defense, not war."

"You are not _listening_." Kreia's tone was biting. "This is not like any field of battle you have ever seen. Think carefully. If you choose to fight, if you choose war, it is a path few turn from once the first steps are taken. It carries with it a terrible price. And in the end you may find you have nothing left to sacrifice."

"I've done it once, and I'll do it again," Trista replied. "It isn't as if I have much left to sacrifice anyway. If the galaxy wants to take anything else, I wish it luck."

"Pah. Like so many Jedi you hear but do not listen." She shook her head, and her voice dropped into too low of a mumble to hear before rising (though Trista was sure she said _I had the same problem with Revan_). "You have much to learn. But we have spoken long enough and my wound pains me. If you have further questions locate me in the crew quarters - there, we will speak more."

Atton raised his hand from where his arms were crossed over his chest. "Don't stop on my account. I was just getting sleepy-eyed."

"And in private we will be mercifully free of the opinions of imbeciles and fools," Kreia retorted, turning and leaving. Trista sighed.

"What a lovely fossil," Atton muttered, swinging his chair back to the console. "Not that I care, but you might want to check on her. Especially with that hand."

Trista sighed and nodded, running a tangled, dingy lock of barely-blonde hair between her thumb and forefinger. "You're right. Can you handle things up here?"

"Don't worry. We're on autopilot. Besides, she needs your help more than me. If I was in that much pain I'd be screaming like a stuck mynock." When he caught the corner of Trista's mouth jerk up in a small, almost forced smile, he straightened slightly. "Well, a very strong, manly mynock, that is."

"Whatever you say, Mr. Rand."

She started to leave, and he called back. "Seriously, just Atton. I hate formaility."

"All right, _Mr. Rand._"

He settled back into his chair as her footsteps retreated and let his head fall back on the headrest, propping his feet on the console.


	8. Chapter 7

**7**

Kreia had refused to speak to her until she actually "looked presentable" - the woman's own words, in the same tone she'd used when Trista had been walking around barefoot in her underwear and still dripping kolto - and stating that they still were a day away from Telos and she had plenty of time to shower and not look like walking death. So she'd grabbed her tunic and leggings out of her pack, which she'd secured in the other dormitory afterwards, and hunted down the 'fresher.

Strangely it seemed mostly stocked, and she assessed the collection of shampoo and soap that lined the small cabinet. The ship's former occupant had definitely been female, apparently with a thing for Dantooinian scents. She grabbed a bottle of something (she hoped it wouldn't make her smell too much like a plant) and a towel and peeled off the miner's uniform and the now useless undergarments she'd been wearing for, at this point, almost a week. It all depended, of course, _when_ that damn droid had drugged her on the _Harbinger_. But she knew it'd been at least four days, between the kolto tank and their escapades in the now-defunct Peragus facility.

She cranked on the water control, moaning happily when she found it piping heated water.

It took her far longer than usual to clean herself, washing her hair at least four times until it was its usual flaxen shade rather than a dingy gray-blonde, hanging loosely down to her lower back. She'd trim it later. The rest of the kolto smell scrubbed off her skin easily, though it took two washes to make her feel less dingy about it. She hated kolto immersion for this very reason. Especially long-term kolto immersion.

Trista stepped out and brushed out her hair, trimming the ends before wrapping it up into a braid that encircled her head. Already she felt like what had passed as normal for several years, just looking into the mirror above the fresher's sink with her hair back in its usual style.

With her hair still damp but fully in place and functional she pulled on her spare clothes - a simple tunic and slacks that tucked into an old pair of boots she had been considering selling at some point for a new pair - threw the miners' uniform into the incinerator pile, and decided to explore the ship rather than return to Kreia or to head into the cockpit to talk to Atton.

T3 hadn't been helpful, too engrossed in his work to pay her any mind as he attempted to repair a loose bit of the starboard engine. She found herself in the empty cargo hold. For a freighter that was rather strange, she thought, but she paid it little mind.

A metal container was at the far end, and she walked towards it. A keypad was on the side and she pursed her lips, then entered several combinations. When they all failed her finger hovered over it, and she caught her lip between her teeth.

She had her suspicions about this ship. Now it was time to see if she was right.

_4-3-0-1-5_

The front of the container hissed and opened, and Trista tried to not think about the implications of being able to open something using Revan's preferred five-digit lock code. Rather, she reached in to pull out the contents.

Even touching a Jedi robe, after so many years, felt wrong. It was as if the fabric itself knew she was an imposter - which was, of course, impossible. But what she found was a simple robe with its inset armor plating, in an extremely small size. Had she not already suspected the previous owner of the ship she would have assumed it'd been a child's robe. It hadn't been Revan's fault that she was naturally small.

Another stack of credits, several medpacs, a couple of low-level pazaak cards and a deck, some stimulants and droid repair parts. The pazaak cards weren't expected, and put a damper on Trista's suspicions. At the bottom was a datapad, and she picked it up and switched it on. A battery indicator warned that it needed to be charged, though it looked brand new.

_This datapad contains important messages for:_

_1. Carth Onasi_

_2. Bastila Shan_

_3. Vandar Tokare_

_I assume you've located my ship then. Good. Pass this datapad onto the mentioned parties. Thank you. Enjoy the _Hawk _- she was a good ship. The stabilizers can be temperamental and the sythensizer has never worked properly, and there's a stash of Corellian whiskey and Tarisian ale behind the center panel in the starboard dormitory. _

_-A.K._

Trista pursed her lips. Maybe she was wrong, then. She recognized Vandar - one of the Jedi Masters - and the name Bastila rang a quiet, dull bell - right, she'd been a Padawan Revan had considered recruiting to the Wars but had rejected as too young. This was likely just a Jedi ship then, probably one lost during the Jedi Civil War, though she didn't recognize the initials.

It was strange, though. This 'A.K.' felt amazingly strong in the Force, the same strength as Revan . . . but she was only coming back to the Force after a long time away, so the likelihood that she was mistaken was high.

Trista shrugged, tucking the datapad and the robes back into the compartment and closing it. She doubted anyone on that list was still alive, but she didn't want to presume anything until she - no. She pulled the datapad back out and switched it back on.

A man named Onasi had been the admiral on the recording, on the _Harbinger_. The one who had been so intent on finding this ship or what had happened to it; the one who had intended to bring her to Telos for some reason. She didn't know if he was the same Onasi the datapad was for, but he may know who the intended recipient was.

She brought it back to the main hold, plugging it into a charging station on the central holotable before putting the supplies away. The medbay was fully stocked, including with herbs and such that she didn't even recognize. A.K. was an overprepared individual.

Trista ran a finger idly over her bracelet. She must just be clinging to any sense of familiarity and, despite the fact that Revan was certainly the worst person to look to for such things, she wanted to believe that her cousin and former commanding Jedi hadn't truly disappeared off the face of the galaxy. But perhaps she had, whether she'd been - no. She was truly out of reach - Revan would never sit by for this, no matter what she felt towards the Jedi. She had never been one to watch innocents die, which was why they had followed her to war in the first place. And if the Sith continued unchecked that's just what would happen - innocents would die.

Revan, dark or light, would not have stood for that.

Trista toyed briefly with the idea of visiting Atton but made the mistake of sitting down on the sofa by the holotable, and her eyes slowly started to droop. She was exhausted. So exhausted that she couldn't bear to keep her eyes open one more moment.

A few hours later, Atton felt safe enough to venture out of the cockpit without feeling like he'd run into Kreia. He wasn't sure what it was about that woman, but he really _really_ did not like her. His 'bad feelings' flared up if he so much as _looked_ at her.

He wasn't expecting to see anyone in the main hold, which was where he was going to scrounge for food, but paused in the doorway. Trista was curled up on the couch, her hands tucked underneath her head and knees bent up, dead asleep. T3 looked to be trying to sling a blanket over her quietly, contemplating just how he was supposed to get it tucked in behind her back without waking her up.

"Shoo," Atton hissed, waving the droid away. T3 responded with a quiet but forceful protest, then turned and headed towards the communications room in the cockpit hallway. Atton stared at the sleeping not-Jedi for a second, then tugged the haphazard blanket up around Trista's shoulders. She shifted slightly and he took a step back, not entirely willing to be caught anywhere near her if she woke up. Fortunately she only seemed to shift in sleep, one hand leaving the sofa to tug the blanket further over herself before slipping back under her head. Atton stared for a brief second, shrugged, and proceeded to locate food.

He quickly realized that the only thing on the ship appeared to be more ration bars, most of which were stale. He hadn't checked the storage room yet, and padded across quietly so as not to disturb the sleeping not-Jedi. Once there, Atton reached out and touched the lock.

A second later he stumbled back, hand drawing his blaster before he realized what he was doing and firing several times into the compartment. There was a _thunk_ as Trista jumped, got her feet tangled in the sheet and tripped to the floor, and T3 sped out from the communications room with a loud, alarmed whistle. Atton stumbled over his feet in the rush and fell back onto his rear with a curse.

"What nonsense is this?"

Trista untangled herself from the blanket. "Ask him," she said, nodding towards Atton. Atton picked himself off the floor, glowering at the hooded figure in the far doorway.

"I opened the storage room and thought there was another bounty hunting droid in there," he replied sardonically, one lip curling. "So you'll forgive me for panicking."

Kreia made a sound that suspiciously edged towards a _humph_ and turned, heading back to her dormitory. Trista rubbed her shoulder from where it'd slammed into the floor, walking forward to examine the droid.

"Looks like the same droid," she said with a nod, running a finger over its metal arm. "But older. Put together by hand, maybe."

"Or personalized." Atton walked around the droid. Trista bent down and tried to get her fingers under the front panel, looking down when T3 poked her leg. He held out a screwdriver.

"Thanks," she said, taking the proffered device, and pried the front panel off. "Looks like it's had a fairly crucial bit of its chassis, its vocabulator, its control cluster, and a few other things fried. Probably . . . probably a close-range blaster shot."

"_HK-50 + HK-47 = not pleasant_," T3 chirped. "_HK-50 = cheated._"

"You know this droid?"

T3 made an unpleasant noise and rolled off to the engine room. Trista looked up at Atton.

"Whatever it is, it's not designed for bounty hunting. This is an infiltration droid." Atton pointed to several spots on its plating. "Hidden weapon mounts, advanced sensors, heavy plating . . . This droid's a bodyguard, or a fighter."

"It's not a typical military droid."

"No, it's not." Atton shrugged. "It's not going to be of much use without those parts anyway."

"No. It's not." She sighed and started to turn, freezing when she felt Atton's hand on her shoulder.

"You all right?"

"Fine." Trista tucked her blanket closer around her shoulders. "Why?"

"You seem tense."

Of course she was tense. The Force was pushing its way back into her head and she was flying back right into the heart of the Republic, probably to get asked to step up and do something, when she wanted more than anything to curl back up on the ship she'd wrecked on that blasted moon and forget again that she was ever a Jedi. "Why would I be?" she retorted, tucking the blanket around her again. "I'll be in whatever dorm Kreia is _not_ in. Sleeping. Like _normal_ individuals." With that, she turned and strode off into the ship. Atton sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

Yeah, in the absence of food, he could _definitely_ use a shower.

#

Kreia was sitting with her back to the door in a meditative pose, her back ramrod straight. Trista stepped inside the door, waiting patiently.

"I see you are sufficiently presentable."

Trista glanced down at herself. "Good enough, I suppose."

Kreia motioned to the floor in front of her, and Trista sank down and tucked her knees up under her chin. "You have come for more answers, then? There is little more that I can tell you."

She nodded at Kreia's hand, the lost appendage noticeable from the way the stump arm rested in her lap. The woman hadn't let her near it, likely taking care of it herself when both Trista and Atton had passed out from exhaustion the night before.

"Your hand. You lost it against the Sith Lord aboard the _Harbinger._" Kreia nodded. "I felt it. It seemed as if my hand was being set on fire."

Kreia nodded again. "That does not surprise me, any more than you hearing my thoughts when we are apart. The pain, however, was unexpected. If I had been prepared, I would have shielded you."

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry."

"Save your pity." Her voice immediately turned harsh. "I am here to save you, not the other way around."

"If we're traveling together we must work together. I don't see how-"

"I do not need your condescension nor your lectures. If anyone needs guidance, it is you."

Trista sighed. "Fine. But if I felt that at the loss of your hand, what if you had been killed?"

Kreia was silent for a few moments. "I do not know. I fear that the consequences would have been more extreme."

"More extreme? . . . then it would have killed both of us."

"I fear so, and I fear it works both ways. I would not wish to test it, and nor should you."

Trista again had the disturbing idea that Kreia could actually read her mind as she looked away and swallowed. She didn't, necessarily, actively search for death, but she wouldn't argue that there were many times she'd actively hoped it would find her anyway - and, in fact, those were far more often the case than deciding that death was not an option. "Then what do we do about it?"

"When we are in battle I suspect our minds are prepared enough to shield one another from the pain. I do not think we will repeat the Peragus incident."

"I certainly hope not." She raised an eyebrow. "How did this even happen? This bond?"

"I must confess its nature eludes me as well. But the bond is strong and its roots run deep - the Force flows easily between the two of us. And speaking of the Force you have felt it again . . . how did it feel? Despite your attempts to turn away, was it the same as before?"

She ignored the scolding. "It felt different. Fainter."

"Ah. Then if my suspicions are correct the damage the Council did was not as permanent as they thought. Cutting one off from the Force is not something easily done."

Trista blinked. "I don't know that the Jedi did this to me."

"If not them, then who did? You certainly do not believe that Revan would have removed the Force from one of her most valued Jedi?" Trista glanced away. "This did not occur without reason, and I cannot believe you entertained the thought that Revan would be so wasteful. She was many things, but that was not one of them."

"But it's like purposeful blinding or, rather, deafening."

"Indeed. But to think that such a thing has not been done before when Jedi have pronounced sentence on their own and exiled them, as they did you..."

She frowned. She hadn't entertained the idea - but she also hadn't thought much about her trial or the Jedi since she'd left. "If they did, why-"

"It is likely they did a sloppy job. The Jedi after the Mandalorian Wars and Revan's initial disappearance were more concerned with damage control within their own ranks, rather than solidity."

"I was the only one who returned."

"And they were desperate to make an example. Such a thing can be undone, but the likelihood of the Jedi undoing such a thing for a traitor is a slim thing at best, assuming any still live."

Trista resisted the urge to reassert that it was a good thing.

"Our link may have had yet another consequence. Perhaps you can hear the Force through me again - albeit distantly. If so, there is yet hope."

Hope that she'd get dragged around the galaxy by the Force again until she was no longer useful, perhaps. Trista felt Kreia's disapproving glare - how a blind woman could glare, she wasn't entirely sure - and cleared her throat.

"Before we reach Telos," she said, fisting her hands under her chin. "I think you should fill me in on exactly what's happened since the Mandalorian Wars."


	9. Chapter 8

A/N: Sorry for the chapter delay. :(

* * *

8

Atton heard footsteps up behind him in the hallway, and the only person who'd be visiting would be Trista, so he logically concluded that she was coming back up. His feet were back up on the console, arms crossed as he watched the ship flit through hyperspace. When the steps got closer, he called back. "So, how's our passenger?"

Trista didn't answer initially, leaning over his shoulder to look at a screen. "Cryptic."

"What a surprise." He shook his head, adjusting his feet on the console in front of him. "Just so you know, the whole thing isn't mysterious, just annoying. If you can really see the future, get up at the pazaak table."

She shook her head, settling down in the copilot's chair. "I don't think Kreia's a Jedi."

"Then she must be royalty, because she's got to be a queen to bark out orders like that. Or maybe she's senile. How old do you think she even is? She may have been good-looking once, but it takes some hard living to make creases like that." Trista looked over at Atton, raising an eyebrow. He held up his hands defensively. "I just got out of prison. If we had a good navicomputer, trust me, we'd be dropping out of hyperspace into the Nar Shaddaa Red Sector right now . . . after spacing that old witch, of course."

"Hey. Just . . ." She sighed. "Just ease off the insults. She was wounded helping us escape, after all."

"All right!" Atton protested. "Don't get mad at me, I didn't ask her to stay behind and get her hand axed off, okay?" Trista sighed. "Don't get me wrong, I appreciate her taking on the Sith Lord for us, but she could lay off _me_ a little, you know? 'Sides." He shrugged. "Pretty sure she only did that because of you."

She sighed again, ignoring his last statement. "Getting empathy off you is like squeezing water out of a rock. Are we still on course for Telos?"

Atton felt like he should have taken offense to that, but ignored it. "Like we have a choice? With the navicomputer locked it's the only place Peragus had logged in their astrogation charts. We should be there soon." He shifted in his chair and mumbled "I hope" under his breath.

"What's wrong with the navicomputer?"

"Voice-locked."

"Huh." That was strange.

They sat in silence for a few minutes. "So. What happened?"

"What?"

"Don't give me that." He arched a brow, glancing over at her. "There were plenty of times back on Peragus where a lightsaber would've come in handy." He let the unasked question hang in the air.

Trista didn't answer for a while, and Atton glanced over. She was staring off into space. "Exiles aren't allowed to keep them," she finally replied, tucking her feet up on the chair and wrapping her arms around her legs.

"Really? Thought you all were supposed to be married to 'em. You know, since you couldn't marry anything else." He shrugged. "Single or double?"

She nearly snapped at him and asked what it mattered. She no longer had it, and reflecting on the fact that she didn't wouldn't help anything. Even _thinking_ about it was painful sometimes. But she shifted uncomfortably in her seat, resting her chin on her knees. "Single. And before you ask, it was . . ." She swallowed again. "It was a light blue, almost white. And I don't want to talk about it."

"All right, forget I asked." Something chimed, and he straightened up. "Coming out of hyperspace to Telos. Strap in."

Trista pulled her harness down, and the blur of hyperspace faded back into individual stars.

Telos Station loomed above the ravaged surface of Telos, large swathes of green standing out against the burnt, barren ground. The station itself was enormous, unlike anything she'd seen before. Huge engines burned below it, keeping it from crashing into the planet. It was surrounded by ships - a few she recognized as ships in the Republic navy, while others looked like trading vessels. Trista swallowed.

Well, here she was. Flying right into the arms of everything she'd been running from for years.

"Telos Control this is the _Ebon Hawk_, looking to land somewhere."

If he'd known the stir that statement had caused in one Lieutenant Grenn's office, he would have been surprised.

::Ebon Hawk_, this is Telos Control. State your destination and car- er . . ._:: There was a series of quiet muttering on the line, completely unintelligible. ::_Proceed to Dock Module 126._::

"Thank you." He turned off the comm. "I've got a bad feeling about this."

"So do I." She sighed. "But we don't have anywhere else to go, without the navicomputer. Take us in."

He shook his head. "Guess we've got no choice."

Atton guided the ship into the docking bay, settling the _Hawk_ down roughly. One of the struts appeared to have been damaged in the flight from Peragus, or before - there was no way to tell.

::_Attention _Ebon Hawk.:: The voice crackled over their radio. ::_All crew, please step out of the ship. Lieutenant Dol Grenn will arrive shortly to meet you._::

"If they know where we're coming from, and think _we_ caused the explosion . . ."

"Not like we have much of a choice." Trista unstrapped, and stood. "Come on."

Atton grumbled behind her, but followed. They lowered the ramp and stepped off, Trista tugging her coat around herself as she looked up at the window to docking bay control. T3 rolled down the ramp with a curious chirp, and Kreia drifted down a few seconds later.

"What is-"

"Don't mess it up," Atton hissed back at Kreia under his breath. Trista glared at him, a look that he felt was echoed by the other woman as well, but footsteps cut off either protest. Both she and the smuggler straightened as a large detail of blue-clad security officers approached, carrying very large weapons, most of which were already pointed at them. Trista took a brief step back, nearly tripping as T3 bumped into the back of her legs with a soft, worried chirp.

"They may not know what happened. So be careful."

"I'm Lieutenant Grenn," said a man with the appropriate stripes on his uniform, stepping a step past the first row of armed men. "I'm under orders to take you into custody in regards to the destruction of the Peragus Mining Facility."

"We didn't have anything to do with that," Trista said immediately with a small smile.

"Well, _that's_ what you never say. . ." She glared back at Atton.

"Still, the circumstances of your arrival are suspect at best. Due to the nature of the investigation, you will be in custody indefinitely. In the meantime, your ship and droids will need to be impounded."

T3 chirped angrily, and Grenn glanced down. "You are a droid, so that _would_ includes you. In addition, we will take your personal arms and armor until the completion of our inquiry. If you are cleared of involvement your effects and ship will be returned.

"We will be forced to hold you briefly in TSF headquarters until living quarters can be arranged, at which point you will be placed under house arrest. Do you understand?"

Trista cleared her throat. "If I understand _correctly_, ten years ago I had a right to know why I was being detained. Has that changed?"

"It has not. If you would like the reasons clearer ..." Green squared his shoulders and straightened. "This vessel and its passengers are connected with the destruction of a fuel mining facility - one that this station depends on. We would merely like to find out the extent of your involvement."

Trista glanced at Atton, who shook his head, then over her shoulder at Kreia. "Very well," she said heavily.

"Good. My men will relieve you of any arms and armor, then do a cursory scan of the ship." He nodded back at his guards, who stepped forward. Trista held up her hands.

"There's no need. I'm sure you won't have any problems." She glared at Atton as she unsnapped her vibroblade, letting it fall to the floor. With a huff, Atton drew both his blasters and set them on the ground next to it and Trista accepted Kreia's sword then waved her hand at the weapons. "That's all we have, trust me."

He nodded. "Step to the side please."

Trista nodded back, then moved towards where the man with the biggest gun indicated. Atton kept himself between Trista and most of the weapons, and Kreia moved with her usual lack of concern. T3 tried to follow them, only for an officer to stick his foot out and stop him.

"It's all right, T3," Trista called back. "We'll be back before you know it."

T3 chirped again and zipped around the man supposed to be watching him as several others entered the ship and again took refuge behind Trista's legs. "_T3 =/= want._"

As Grenn dropped his comm and took several steps forward, Trista crouched down next to the droid. "It'll be all right," she said, taking note of a worn streak in his flat top. "It'll probably only be a couple of days." He _dwoo_'d softly. "I know, you don't like it. But you just need to stay with the ship, all right? See if you can fix that strut, or make sure the hyperdrive is fully repaired."

Atton scoffed, and Trista glared at him for a second.

"_T3 = will._" His top lowered slightly. She rubbed along the worn streak.

"Good. Now go on, I'm sure the soldiers will be nice to you."

With what was the droid equivalent of a resigned sigh he rolled back towards the ship. Grenn was waiting when she stood.

"Come with us," he said, motioning his hand. Trista nodded and followed him, Atton falling into step next to her and Kreia strolling nonchalantly behind them. Most of the guards fell into step around them, leaving only a small group with the _Ebon Hawk._

They were walked into a shuttle, and motioned to seats. Trista sank down, staring blankly at her wall. Now that she was surrounded by guards - Republic ones, at that - she was nearly panicking. She hadn't been around soldiers, not to mention this many people, in a decade and she was certain that many in the Republic considered her worse than a war criminal, unless Revan's actions had completely overshadowed what she'd done at Malachor V.

It was possible, of course.

But now no matter what she would be called what she wasn't, and expected to be it. She'd have to act a certain way, lose whatever grounds of normalcy she may have attained over the years.

"I'll need your names," Grenn said, standing in front of them as the shuttle shook away from the terminal. "First you."

Trista glanced away from the wall and cleared her throat. "Trista. Trista Morace."

Atton looked over at her. Trista's eyes had always been dulled, almost dead-looking, but now something else had colored them - resignation, perhaps?

Hell, he wasn't even sure he'd seen her facial expression change notably since they'd met.

". . . Atton Rand." He almost hesitated before giving his name, and Grenn _hemm_ed when he typed it into his datapad. Trista glanced at him, and he shrugged.

"Kreia," Kreia replied simply and fairly uninterestedly. She was apparently making a few of the TSF officers closest to her nervous.

"When we arrive you will each be questioned separately regarding the Peragus disaster. We are authorized to use truth serum, so I recommend you cooperate."

Atton scowled. "We're that important, huh?" Trista didn't say anything, staring at the wall across from her.

Grenn glowered at him for a second, then walked back to talk to the shuttle pilot.

#

"Where have you been since the end of the Mandalorian Wars?"

Trista shook her head. "I couldn't tell you." Grenn cleared his throat and she looked up from the table. "I don't know. I've just been wandering. Around. Away from _people_."

"Why?"

"It seemed like the right thing to do."

"For a Jedi to-"

"For the sake of _everything _that _anyone_ considers holy," Trista snapped, slamming her palm on the table. "I am _not_ a Jedi."

The only thing her outburst did was encourage Grenn to writing something down in his datapad, and she took several deep breaths.

"I've avoided anything that could remind me of the Jedi or the Republic or the war. And I was doing well until it was a Republic ship that answered my distress call."

"And how did you end up on Peragus?"

"I told you. I was unconscious between the attack on the _Harbinger_ and waking up in the medical bay. No one was alive in the facility, save for the three of us. And then the _Harbinger _attacked us and there was a Sith Lord, and things have been quite blurry recently."

"And the _Harbinger_ destroyed the facility while attempting to attack you?"

"That is my assumption. They missed and hit an asteroid - there's nearly no way the ship made it out."

"If it had, wouldn't you be capable of sensing the Sith Lord?"

"I already said, I'm _not_ a damn Jedi."

"My apologies." He made another note. "Well, the good news is that your companions all appear to be sharing your story, when they bother to speak at all." She had a feeling Kreia had opted to Force-persuade her way out of the questioning and was already in a holding cell. "You'll be taken to the holding cells until quarters can be arranged, as I said earlier. Merely a formality - we want to make sure you were, as you say, a bystander in the Peragus disaster.

"And I do apologize for the current procedure." He sighed, and looked back up from his datapad. "But, after the disappearance of both Revan and the Jedi we are forced to treat anyone with the smallest link to the Jedi with suspicion. People are scared and, if we did not, the effect could be panic." Trista nodded. Even if she didn't like it, she understood. Besides, she was an unknown entity to everyone, not just the Republic. "After our investigation is complete, you will likely be taken to Coruscant."

"With all due respect, Lieutenant, I don't want to return to Coruscant. I have no desire to ever see the capital again."

"It's my understanding that you won't have much of a choice," he replied gently. "The admiral that has taken an interest in you has certain . . . _ties_ to the Jedi." For a second she wondered if he'd put out the bounty, then decided that was probably absurd. "And he isn't someone you easily say 'no' to." Grenn stood. "Follow me, please, Ms. Morace."

The TSF guards fell into step behind them as he led her to a small room, lined with six forcefield-protected cages, three to either wall. Kreia was already meditating in one, barely reacting as the door opened. Trista was ushered to the one just across from the door, her brow furrowing as the field shot up around her.

"A force cage? This is ridiculous."

"It's a simple security precaution. I-"

"Oh you have _got_ to be kidding me." Atton balked at the door. "Really?"

Trista sighed, motioning to her own shimmering cage walls. "They're apparently _quite_ serious, Mr. Rand."

"I just got _out_ of one of these things! I-"

"I suggest you do as we say, Mr. Rand. I'm sure I could find _more_ charges to hold you for _longer_ if you do not cooperate." Atton scowled at Grenn and stepped into the cell next to Trista. The field shot up. "I'll return when we've arranged housing."

"Can I at least get a sandwich?" Atton asked. Grenn shook his head and turned on his heel, waving the guards out. "I just want a sandwich!"

"Oh, do be silent," Kreia chided. He glared at her.

"Just . . . I'm not in the mood for a fight." Trista sank down onto the floor, tucking her chin under her knees. "So both of you, stop. Please."

Kreia didn't reply. Atton glanced over at Trista as she laid her head on her knees, staring at the wall, and he sighed and started pacing the small edge of his cell.

This was getting awfully old.

#

They didn't know how long they were alone in the cells, though none of them spoke. Atton continued to pace his cell restlessly, occasionally glancing at Trista or the witch across from him.

This was a disaster. They should have gotten back onto the _Hawk _as soon as Grenn showed up in the docking bay and fled. They could have figured out a way to make it around the voicelocked navicomputer - the droid had, if his story was to be believed. Besides they could always have hacked it out and installed a new one, one that worked _properly_ -

His head jerked up as the door opened. Trista must have been nearly asleep, as her reaction was far slower. The door closed behind a man in TSF blues, an enormous blaster rifle slung across his back. "Well. This will be easier than I'd expected."

"What the hell are you talking about."

"Shut up. I'm not interested in you." The man turned his eyes from Atton to Trista, who finally stood. Her expression hadn't changed. "And this is the last of the Jedi. Not as impressive as I'd thought."

"I'm not a Jedi," Trista said quietly.

"Ah. What a pity. That only means you'll be easier to kill." He shrugged. "The Exchange as a bounty on your kind, you know. You're worth quite a bit of money." Trista didn't reply.

"The Exchange? You aren't one of _them_, I'm sure."

The would-be Exchange member glared at Atton. "I'm more than skilled enough for the Exchange."

"That so? This is the worst hit I've ever seen, then. I'd hire a Mandalorian over you."

"I wouldn't," Trista murmured quietly, and Atton almost felt bad for her. He should have realized she wouldn't have the most pleasant recollections of Mandalorians.

"A Mandalorian would have entered this office and redecorated it with TSF internal organs. No Mandalorian would have been clever enough to infiltrate this station, then taken the identity of a guard, then-"

"What, overload our cages and made it look like a accident? You're probably not even man enough to face me head-on."

At least, if that _was_ his plan, Atton was going to make damn sure he at least got in a few good verbal hits.

"That _had_ occurred to me. Unfortunately my employer wants the Jedi very much alive." He looked back at Trista, speaking his next words very slowly and clearly so there was no mistaking them. "If she refuses to come with me, I will put a blaster round in your skulls, then state that there was an electrical malfunction and I killed you in self-defense. After all, I am a TSF guard. Who will they believe - me, or a pile of corpses? And by the time they know differently, I will be halfway to Nar Shaddaa."

Trista hadn't moved, merely standing there with her hands loose at her sides and that same accursed calm expression on her face. Atton wasn't sure what was pissing him off more - the fact that she'd suddenly grown that damn Jedi calmness again or the fact that she was barely even reacting to the man casually talking about killing her.

"And if I do come quietly, do you believe the TSF is going to let me stroll out of this compound?" Atton glared at her harder. She couldn't be agreeing to this.

"Of course not. That is why I've secured the back entrance." He turned to a console and flipped a switch. The fields suddenly shimmered, and he turned back as they lowered. "Now, how will we let this play out?"

"Trish, you-"

"If you want a fight, then I hope you prepared for one," she replied, voice still quiet. He smirked, reaching for his blaster rifle.

"Hey," Atton threatened, taking a step out of his now-open cage. "Leave her alone. You want a fight? Try me."

The guard grinned, a feral look that bared his teeth, and decided to forgo the blaster rifle and rather pulled a knife from his belt. "And before you think about the Force," he growled. "It won't work."

For the first real time since she'd climbed out of the kolto tank, Trista's lips twitched upwards. Before he could react she'd lunged forward, hand curling into a fist as she slammed it up under the man's jaw. He staggered back. "It's been a long time since I've used the Force," she replied flatly. "I don't think it will be necessary for a blatant upstart like yourself."

He rubbed his jaw, but the feral smile only grew as he stepped forward again, replying with his own swing. Atton intercepted it as Trista moved to dodge, grabbing the man's wrist and jamming the point of his elbow into his nose. The assassin jerked back, and Atton dodged his foot as he moved to kick him. Trista seized it, jerking him off-balance. He grabbed her arm and pulled her forward, freeing his leg and trying to throw her face-first into the console. He succeeded enough but she averted the worst of it, hitting the flat top face first rather than the sharp edge.

That gave Atton the opening he needed, despite his stomach wrenching at the sound of something cracking as Trista slid to the floor looking dazed. He grabbed the assassin from behind, placing a hand on his shoulder and the opposite side of his head, and took a deep breath before pulling his hands together. The assassin's neck snapped with a loud _crack_, and he slumped to the floor.

Kreia had already moved from her stoic position at the far edge of the fight, kneeling next to Trista. She had her hand cupped over her face, eyes closed. Blood was already dripping down the front of her tunic, staining the pale fabric red.

"It is merely a broken nose. Move your hand," Kreia ordered. Trista cracked an eye to look at her, then coughed. Kreia sighed and tugged her hand aside long enough to place two long fingers on either side of her already-swelling nose, then nodding. "I could not staunch the bleeding, but the bones are set. Part of your shirt, fool." She held out her hand. Atton looked down.

"Usthe mine," Trista said, voice thick. "Ruined anyway."

Kreia tore off part of her hem and pressed it into Trista's hand, and she held it up to her nose.

"You all right?" Atton asked. Trista nodded, surprised to catch the smallest hint of concern darting over his face before disappearing.

"I'll be fine," she murmured. "Justh th' nothe."

It was then that the door opened, admitting a full unit of TSF guardsmen with Grenn at the front. "What is go-" His eyes lit on the dead assassin and promptly took a hard tone. "Get a medic in here," he barked towards a TSF agent, who sprinted away. "All right, 'Jedi.'" His guards fell into an assault position Trista recognized, guns ready. Atton not-so-subtly stepped to shield her. "Back up nice and slow into the force cage with your hands in front of you."

"As if you could kill her were you to try," Kreia replied, almost amused. Atton helped Trista to stand, sticking his hand back so she could grab it, but still stood pointedly between her and the guardsmen.

"That was an assassin," he said, pointing. "He-"

Grenn spoke over Atton. "Again, back into the-"

"Sir, is that . . . is that Batu Rem?"

Grenn glanced at the female officer, then the corpse, then back at the trio. With a nod to keep guns ready he stepped forward, turning the corpse over. "Batu Rem isn't even on the station. He's on leave. This isn't him."

"Well, I'm glad thomeone notithed _afther _he atthempthed tho murder usth," Trista replied, earning a glare from Grenn once he'd made out what she said.

"Like I said, an assassin," Atton replied. "Good job. TSF, most secure police force in the galaxy."

Grenn sighed, still glaring at him. "We'll investigate this, of course."

"If it lives up to the quality of your other investigations I have little doubt we will be free in no time at all," Kreia retorted.

He glared at her, but didn't reply. "Meanwhile, we've arranged quarters for you. Follow us, please.'

"And thow long will _thisth_ be?" Trista asked.

"Again, I have no timetable to offer you. You'll be under TSF protection, and I will personally clear any visitors to your quarters." One of the guards prodded at her with his blaster rifle. Trista sighed heavily and began to follow Grenn, Atton jogging to catch up to her. Kreia gave an officer a fairly disparaging look as he came towards her, prompting him to merely clear his throat and motion with his gun.

"After you, ma'am."

* * *

A/N: Writing Kreia is tough. I mean, she doesn't have eyes, so how is she doing all this glaring? But somehow you just _know that she is._ And, I'm pretty sure she knows she's in a work of fiction.

Thanks for the reviews and all.

Now, one quick question: I think it was in Schrodinger's but my have been Chiaroscuro, but I had an un-logged-in review asking about game dialogue and including it. If it was Schrodingers and you're reading this, send me a message here or on my tumblr (link is in my bio). I feel bad about not getting back to you but I just even remembered it, so...


	10. Chapter 9

**A/N: **Wanted to post before work, so here you go. A whole lot of not much happens in this chapter, just a warning.

* * *

**9**

"I can't believe this," Atton snarled at the now-shut door, closed only seconds before behind Lieutenant Grenn and his men. "And they couldn't even leave us with a blaster."

Trista didn't reply, instead dropping face-down on one of the beds. Atton glanced at her, then started to pace by the window. Kreia didn't seem at all perturbed by recent developments, instead inspecting a plant that sat strangely alone in a random corner.

"This isn't good," Atton said finally. "We've got to get off this station."

"Do we have to do this _now_," Trista replied, voice muffled by her pillow. Her broken nose had finally stopped affecting her speech sometime along the walk. Atton frowned.

"What do you think the TSF is going to find out there? That could bring the S-" He sighed, leaning his forehead against the window. "You know what? Fine. Forget it. As long as we're trapped here, it doesn't matter."

Trista huffed.

"We cannot stay in one place too long. But our path has brought us here for a reason. I must meditate on this. In the meantime, we should rest."

Trista glared at Atton when he made a face behind Kreia's back, and he rolled his eyes.

"Does this 'resting' involve food?"

She sighed and pointed at the console. "Get me a sandwich or something if they're actually going to feed us, Mr. Rand. And I'd appreciate a new shirt."

"Anything in particular you want, your Jediness?"

Trista frowned at him and rolled over onto her side, facing away from him. He shrugged and opened the comm.

"Any way I can get that sandwich now?"

#

T3 had been briefly inspected by the TSF but was being mostly kept in the docking bay with the _Hawk_, which he would have much rather preferred at the moment. He merely did not wish to have to inform his Master's compatriot of her disappearance, once he undoubtedly arrived in a rush to examine the ship itself. His Master and the organic shared similar pheromone-driven reactions to one another, and that often led to one or both making irrational decisions where the other was concerned.

He didn't feel he needed to mention the time that his Master hit _him_ with a spoon due to a visit by her organic compatriot's offspring.

T3 had been repairing the strut that day, a day and a half after they'd pulled into Telos, chirping quietly to himself as he activated the magnetic locks on his own struts and stomped to hang upside-down on the ship. He held the broken strut steady with his manipulator as his welding torch attempted to reattach the loose bit that was the effect of Atton nearly flying the ship into an asteroid.

His head swiveled from his work when one of his sensors indicated a nearby presence, and to his surprise he spotted a woman in simple-looking white robes glancing over the ship and consulting a datapad. She tucked it away with a nod, and started up the ramp.

T3 whistled an alarm sharply, releasing his magnetic locks and managing to right himself before slamming into the ground. He chirped angrily, whizzing to the ramp and zipping around the mysterious woman to block her path.

"You are the little droid Atris mentioned, then," she said, kneeling down. "She wondered if you would still be present."

T3 let a panel on the side of his head pop open, extending his shock arm. "_T3 = armed. Ship =/= Atris'._"

She patted him. "She only wishes to investigate it. Your master would want it so, would she not?"

"_Master + Atris = no._"

"That is not for me to decide."

T3 chirped angrily again, then jolted and rolled back several feet when she jammed a small ion blaster into his center chassis and fired. He prevented his systems from entering complete shutdowns by routing the blast through a few different redundant channels, but still it jolted him into a low-power state. She rolled the droid back into the ship, closed the ramp, and made her way to the cockpit.

She directed the ship to a landing zone in one of Telos' polar caps, settling it into a concealed hangar. As she stepped out, several other women met her.

"This is the ship," she said. "Inform our mistress that we have it and Revan's droid."

#

Atton's quest to locate a sandwich was finally recognized when several TSF officers, all heavily armed, brought them several plates of supplies. As soon as the door opened he had rocketed off the bed, only stopping from jumping the nearest TSF officer when he swung a blaster rifle towards him.

"All right," he snapped, taking a step back and holding up his hands. They set the two trays down and, wordlessly, left and locked the door behind them. Atton was disappointed when he uncovered them, but grabbed a ration bar and sat back on his heels anyway.

"You know," he said, as Trista sat next to the tray and unwrapped her own. "They could at least give us real food. We are in prison. Basically."

"Be thankful they feed you at all," Trista replied, biting into it. "They could merely toss you a scrap here or there. At least they're making an attempt."

Atton's neck hair twitched - Kreia was still watching them, legs crossed on one of the beds in the tiny one-room apartment. When they'd said they were under house arrest, they were under house arrest.

"So," he asked, mouth full of ration bar. "When're we gonna get out of here?"

"Hopefully within the week," Trista said.

"Well, we've got time." Atton reached in a pocket and held up a deck of cards. "Pazaak?"

She shrugged, producing the deck she kept in her bag. "May as well."

#

That night, Trista fell into a rough, tossing sleep in her bed. Atton sat on his, sharpening the knife he kept in his boot that TSF hadn't found and keeping a wary eye on Kreia, sitting with her legs crossed and apparently meditating on the floor at the end of her bed.

His eyes turned back to Trista, who was currently half off the bed, one arm flung over her eyes and a leg dangling over the edge of the mattress. He muttered something to himself, quietly, before looking back down at his knife.

"You did not see what before, fool."

Godsdamn that witch. "I don't see how it's any of your business," he replied sharply.

"If it is about her, it is my business. Speak, or I will tear it out of you."

Atton pursed his lips. He didn't doubt that, if she used her stupid Jedi mindfucking to get at that, she'd use it to get at everything else too. "I didn't realize how much pain she carried around," he said finally, casting another glance at the sleeping not-Jedi. If someone could _call_ whatever she was doing 'sleeping,' that was, as she suddenly flung herself from her back to her stomach and ended up half off the other side of the mattress.

"And how would you know?"

"It doesn't take a Jedi to tell that." He looked up. Yeah, like he was going to divulge years of shit to _her._ "Explain something to me."

"I do not have the years required, nor the desire to indulge you."

He scoffed, but ignored it as he swiped his knife again. "She was Revan's third in command once, right?"

"Second, as far as many sources are concerned."

Atton shrugged. "Either way, Jedi are supposed to be tough, capable." The universe should know he knew that. "But she-"

"What is a Jedi without the Force?" Kreia asked pointedly. Atton fell quiet. "Take the greatest Jedi, strip away the Force, and nothing remains. They rely on it, depend on it more than even they know. Watch when they hold a blaster as they once held a lightsaber, and you will see nothing more than a simple woman or man, or child."

Atton was quiet for a few moments. "I guess I didn't realize how much they relied on it."

"Do not be surprised." She turned her head slightly, and he had the slightest feeling that he was being assessed. "In many ways I suspect even _you _are more capable than a Jedi."

"You don't have to sound so forced," he muttered.

"You could survive where they could not, simply because you cannot hear the Force as they do." She turned her head back. "It is only for this reason that I tolerate your presence." Atton looked very seriously at his knife for a second. "I would not consider it, if I were you."

"But such a loss of ability," he continued, returning his knife to the sharpener. "It seems extreme."

"She has been away from war for some time. Without conflict to strengthen us our abilities atrophy . . . and isolation weakens us, erodes our powers. Add to that that she turned away from war, did everything she could to forget that it and the Force ever existed . . . and the last piece is revealed. But we do her a disservice by speaking of this when she is not here."

Atton opened his mouth to argue when the terminal on the wall chirped. Trista was startled awake by the noise, flailing out of bed and falling to the ground tangled in her sheet. He waved back at her. "Just get yourself situated," he called back as his hand hit the comm. "Yeah."

::_Oh._:: The TSF officer seemed taken aback, but she quickly recovered. ::_There is an Ithorian here from the Enclave._::

Atton relayed it back. "What does he want?" Trista asked, trying to put the sheet back on the bed.

::_Um . . . He says he wishes to speak with you on behalf of Chodo Habat. That's all he will say._::

"Fine," Trista replied, straightening her hair.

"Send him in?" Atton supplied. The door opened, and the tall, hammerhead alien stepped through before it closed. He assessed all three individuals, then turned his attention to Trista.

"_Thank you for seeing me_," he said. "_I am Moza, here on behalf of Chodo Habat, our leader on Telos._"

"And what does Chodo want with us?" she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

"_Are you familiar with the restoration project?_" She shook her head. "_The surface of Telos was destroyed during the Jedi Civil War, a few years ago._"

"Nearly seven," Atton replied helpfully.

"_Yes. This - Citadel Station - is part of the Republic's planetary restoration initiative. Citadel Station uses energy fields to seal off portions of the planet's surface, then generators and controls individual weather patterns in each sector. Once that is stabilized, new animal and plant life is introduced to stabilize the ecosystem. Recently, we have become opposed by a corporation known as 'Czerka' - perhaps you have heard of our troubles?_"

"I've only recently come to Telos," Trista said.

"_We Ithorians are known as ecologists and agricultural engineers, and we of my herd were approached by the Telosian government and the admiralty to restore the planet. We were generously funded, and the restoration would be a model for further salvation of other worlds damaged by war. But troubles with Onderon has damaged our supplies, and the TSF has been unable to police the entire station._

_"Czerka approached the Republic, offering supply and security contracts. They police two-thirds of Citadel Station. Their efforts damage our cause. They have taken control of a number of Restoration Zones on the planet, and they began to deteriorate in weeks. If this continues the restoration project will be brought to a halt, if not stopped entirely, and the Republic will be unwilling to continue the project. Telos will remain destroyed._"

"And just where are we supposed to come in?" Atton asked, when Trista didn't seem quite ready to answer. Not like they'd have time to help, since they would be claiming the ship and getting the hell off the station as soon as possible. Moza studied him for a second.

"_Chodo Habat is a powerful priest, our spiritual leader. He sensed something upon your arrival - a disturbance, an echo in your Force. Chodo felt you might be able to aid us, and bid me tell you that if you were willing, it may be possible for him to heal you._"

"I'm not damaged," Trista replied, and Atton was surprised by how defensive her tone was.

"_I am sorry. I do not understand what he meant, and I may have misspoken,_" he placated.

"Perhaps Habat should turn his eyes to his own people, if they suffer so,' Kreia interjected. Moza's small eyes seemed to widen, but he turned them back to Trista.

"_If this offer interests you, please visit the Ithorian compound in this module when your troubles with the TSF have ended. Chodo Habat will be most pleased to see you._"

"I will consider it," Trista replied.

"_Thank you._" To his credit, Moza seemed relieved as he took his leave. Trista sighed, and flopped bonelessly back onto her bed.

Damn it. Barely a week conscious in Republic space and people were already trying to use her.

"You all right?" Atton asked. She raised her head.

"I'm fine," she replied, letting her head fall back. "Tell the TSF to bring us something to eat."

Atton shook his head and turned back to the console. "Whatever you say, your Jediness."


	11. Chapter 10

**A/N:** Experimenting with Trista's nightmares/flashbacks in this chapter. I just have a lot of feels.  
I put this on my current Mass Effect story's last chapter as well, but this may be my last update for a while. I have TWO MONTHS to write an entire master's thesis and I don't know how I'm going to do it, so it'll be really frustrating. But the point is I really need to bust my ass on it. I have one more chapter loaded after this; I'll probably try to update in the next few days, and then it could be anywhere from a week to the middle/end of March before I update again. Just a warning - I'm hoping it won't be, but I have a lot going on in the next few months. But thankfully this summer I'll be living alone and either between schools or in my first real job, so hopefully I'll be, you know, free to write. More so than now.

* * *

**10**

_"Trista." _

_She groaned quietly in reply, not daring to open her eyes. She felt dead. Was she dead? No, she couldn't be dead - she would have joined with the Force. Wait, where was . . . she couldn't feel - there was a void somewhere down inside her, a dark one, something empty and vacant and hollow. _

_"Tris, please." _

_She slowly forced her eyes open, and let her head fall towards the speaker. Revan sat in a chair next to her bed, maskless, and smiled when their eyes met. _

_"Finally," she chided. "You've been out for days." _

_"What happened?" Trista's voice sounded strange coming from her throat, rough and harsh. _

_"I was going to ask you the same thing." Revan reached out and grasped her hand, laying limp on top of the sheets. "The bridge crew said you collapsed. They said you nearly died." _

_"I don't know. I . . . Revs, I can't feel the Force." Revan was quiet for a few minutes, looking away. "You . . . you expected this, didn't you?"_

_Her head whipped back around, loose tendrils of fiery hair waving with the motion. "How dare you accuse me of that!" she demanded. "How _dare_ you say that I would put you in outright danger?!"_

_"You have before!" Trista replied, perhaps a little more harshly than was merited. "This wouldn't be the first, Revanna Galon!" _

_"Don't take that tone with me!" she snapped. "Just because you're older than me-"_

_"And I promised your mother I'd watch out for you, but - _that's_ what this is? I disagree with you and -"_

_"Tris, just . . . just stop." Revan reached out and brushed a strand of blonde hair off her forehead. "Just stop. I wouldn't . . . if I'd known what this would do to you I wouldn't have asked you to be there. I would have sent you as far away as possible - you know that. I don't care that you disagree with me about nearly everything. We're the only family either of us have."_

_"You have Alek," she replied. "But, he's using Malak now, isn't he?"_

_"He is," Revan replied. "That's besides the point."_

_"And if we hadn't left the Jedi -"_

_"You left willingly, and you know it."_

_"I know I did. But we should go back." Revan looked away again. "Revan, we can't just -" _

_"The Jedi aren't what the Republic needs," she answered. Her tone was nearly venomous. "The Jedi are weak, arrogant, and judgmental di'kut. They nearly let the Republic fall around them. You saw it yourself."_

_"If you aren't going back," she asked. "What are you going to do?"_

_Revan sighed. "Alek and I are going to take a small part of the fleet into the Unknown Regions. Something was behind the Mandalorians, and we intend to find out what it was."_

_"Revs-"_

_"Don't. Our minds have been made up since the battle." She glanced away. "Mandalore told us. It's why the strategy was so unlike them." _

_"Revs, you need - _we_ need - to go back. We need to face judgment, to get help. You're so close to fal-"_

_"No! The Jedi will merely imprison us, or worse. I _refuse_ to let them further dictate my life when they know _nothing_ about _anything_ outside the Temple walls." _

_"They know enough."_

_"And 'enough' would have gotten the Outer Rim destroyed." _

_"Revan, please. I'm worried. Don't - whatever it is you think you're chasing, let it be. Take it to the Council, see what -"_

_"No. I can't. If it's a threat to the Republic, it has to be stopped." Revan stood. "Trista, come with us, when we leave. Please. I . . . need you." _

_The tone in Revan's voice gave her the smallest pause, and she considered it for the briefest moment. But . . . "No," she replied. "I-I cannot. I'm sorry, cousin."_

_Revan ducked her head and sighed. "Well . . . Bye, Tris." _

_Trista gasped when the woman she knew shifted, shimmering into the masked, hooded Revan she'd found images of on the holonet during their imprisonment. Her dark-gloved hand stretched forward, and lightning sparked on her fingers. "Then you are a liability." _

_Trista threw herself for the side of the hospital bed, falling to the far floor with a thud and -_

"Tris. _Tris_, wake up. Tris!"

She gasped, shooting nearly upright. Atton jerked back, nearly missing having his nose slammed into by her forehead. Instinctively her hand snapped out, latching around his wrist. "Whoa, sweets!"

Trista shook her head to clear it, then hurriedly released him. "Mr. Rand, are you all right?"

"Yeah. Fine." He eyed her suspiciously. "What the hell was going on?"

"Nothing. Just a bad dream." She rubbed her face. "Ugh. I really wish I could take a walk."

"We could always fight our way out," Atton supplied helpfully.

"Absolutely not," Kreia chided from the far side of the room.

"I wasn't serious," Atton snapped. Trista rested her head in her hands, sighing heavily.

"Just . . . _stop_, both of you!" she barked. "Force, it's like dealing with a pair of children sometimes!"

Atton glared over his shoulder at Kreia and stalked to the far side of the room. Trista rolled over onto her side, tucking herself into a small ball under her sheets. But she didn't sleep, eyes following the paths of the shuttles outside her window.

This was why she _didn't_ sleep.

#

The next day, the terminal chirped again. Trista, who had been cross-legged at the end of her bed, sighed heavily and answered it.

"What?" she asked sharply, expecting the TSF. The droid on the other end looked shocked.

::_Apologies, mistress. I am B-4D4, administrative assistant for Czerka Corporation's Citadel Station Branch._::

Figures. Czerka knew that she'd been visited by the Ithorians and had to catch up. She was a Jedi, even if she wasn't.

"I apologize. Please, continue," she said quickly.

::_I am attempting to connect you with Executive Officer Jana Lorso. May I put you through?_::

"Yes," she replied simply.

::_Thank you. I will connect you now. Good day._:: The droid disappeared, only to be replaced by a middle-aged woman with dark hair and diamond-shaped tattoos that arched over her eyebrows and down to her hairline.

::_Thank you for accepting my call, Jedi. As my assistant no doubt informed you, I am Jana Lorso._::

"And why are you contacting me?" She knew why, and toyed with the idea of correcting her assertion that she was a Jedi. But something about the woman made her uncomfortable - whether it was the Force or just years of instinctual living on the Rim, she didn't know.

::_I understand that you have been approached by the Ithorians._:: Trista nodded. ::_Doubtless they tried to obtain your assistance through imposed guilt and veiled threats -_::

"I remember neither. Please, I'd appreciate you reaching your point."

::_Very well. Your standing with the Jedi and the Exchange has no bearing on our discussion anyway, and I did not intend to waste your time discussing Ithorians._:: She glanced down, likely checking a datapad. ::_I do believe you are a person of influence. Someone I'd like on my side, rather than aiding the Ithorians in their quasi-mysticism and foolishness. There is a potential for progress and profit on Telos. But rather than asking for your help, I am offering you a job. Work for Czerka, and be handsomely rewarded. You would be helping yourself. If you find yourself interested, please visit the office here in Residential 082. B-4D4 will know what to do when you arrive._::

"I will come by if I can," she said.

::_Excellent. Good luck with that messy investigation - I'm sure it will be over shortly - and I hope to see you very soon._::

As the comm clicked, Trista shook her head. Atton was leaning against the wall by the console with his arms crossed, studying her.

"Not sure?"

"What do you know about these people?"

He shrugged. "Czerka's kept its head down since the mining on Tat' went bottom-up. Heard they were involved in a nasty slavery thing on some Outer Rim planet as well back durin' the war but . . ." Atton shook his head. "Well, when you spend as much time on the Rim as I have, that doesn't bother you so much."

"Who were they enslaving?"

"Big hairy guys. Wookiees, I think they're called."

She nodded. The only ones she'd ever met _had_ been slaves.

"Anyway, we should get some rest," Atton said. "Whenever they decide to release us, we should get lost. And fast."

"Agreed," Trista replied with a nod. She glanced at Kreia, but the woman appeared to be meditating near the far wall and did not reply.

So she settled herself on the end of her hard bed and crossed her legs, tentatively reaching out towards the current of life that flowed just within her reach.

#

The next day was when Grenn returned, finally, after nearly a week of house arrest. Trista swung off her bed, rubbing her neck as she stepped towards him.

"I've come to inform you that the Telosian government has completed its inspection of what's left of the Peragus facility. It appears that the _Harbinger_ was present, though it was gone when our ships arrived, and was responsible for the station's destruction. Logs recovered from the facility's wreckage indicated the miners had perished as a result of sabotage that began while you and your companions were either incapacitated or incarcerated."

"Told you," Atton muttered from behind her.

"As such, you are to be released from house arrest. However, the Republic is sending its own ship to investigate. They have insisted that you remain on station for the duration of their search."

"Why are _they_ sending a ship?" Trista asked. "And how long will it take?"

"Well," Grenn said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "To further investigate the station's destruction and search for their missing ship_._ The _Sojourn_ is already en route; it will probably not take more than a few standard days. These quarters are available for you to use during your stay."

"And our ship, it's still impounded?" Atton asked. He nodded.

"The vessel's I&D is complete. The TSF station near Entertainment Module 081's cantina should have the paperwork. The ship should be transferred from the impound docks by the time you're free to leave."

"And my T3 droid?" She wasn't at all done finding out what that droid knew.

"It will be returned with your ship, along with your confiscated weapons and armor."

Without leaving room for further questions, Green left. The doors closed, but they could hear the TSF guards leaving the outside watchposts.

"Well now what?" Atton asked. "We can't just stick around here. We need to get the hell off this station."

"I know," Trista said.

"We could head for Nar Shaddaa, maybe. If you've got people after you it's a good place to get lost."

"Personal experience?"

"Maybe. It's no big deal." He motioned. "Look. This place is a waste. If it wasn't shot when Peragus blew, it'll be when your friends come for a visit."

"Kreia?"

"I feel we came to Telos for a reason," she said calmly from her position on the end of a bed. "But we may have tarried to long here. Even if the _Harbinger_ was destroyed at Telos - unlikely - more Sith could be on their way as we speak. _Still_," she said pointedly. "There is a chance we might learn of other Jedi here, on the planet's surface. Jedi who may help us sever the link between us, or restore your abilities."

"Yes. That would be a cold day in hell," Trista replied.

Atton glanced between the two women, again questioning just how messed Trista's relationship with the Jedi was. "Well . . . what're _you_ thinking then?"

Trista shrugged. "Stay or explore, we need a ship. We should find the _Ebon Hawk_ and see if she will be available in a timely fashion. If not, we may need to purchase passage."

"Sure. I'll get out all zero of my credits," Atton replied, but he headed for the door.


	12. Chapter 11

**A/N: **This will definitely be the last chapter for a while. I'll see you when I'm at least halfway done my thesis and decide to take a couple days to myself, which will be comprised of Minecraft, SWTOR, and writing.

* * *

**11**

"What do you mean, _gone_?" Trista asked pointedly.

Atton, meanwhile, was digging a palm into one of his eyes with an irritated look.

"The TSF believes the _Ebon Hawk_ has been stolen, and is currently investigating," the droid explained. "It appears that the _Ebon Hawk_ was transferred to Telos' surface instead of an impound dock. However, the requester and the point of delivery are unknown. In addition the vessel is not appearing at government-sanctioned landing sites. I would conjecture that the TSF records have been illegally accessed and modified."

"Son of a bitch," Atton muttered. "That stupid T3 unit stole our ship! It's probably joyriding through the system, laughing at us . . . laughing at _me._"

"Don't be foolish," Kreia chided. "While I have no doubt that it is 'laughing at you,' I suspect it was not involved."

"She is correct. While your utility droid is unaccounted for, numerous satellites track all incoming and outgoing vehicles. The _Ebon Hawk_ has not left the system."

"See, Mr. Rand?"

Atton shook his head. "It's on Telos' surface? That's . . . I don't understand. Telos' atmosphere is highly corrosive outside the Restoration Zones - where else could someone land safely?"

"How do you know all this?" Trista asked. He shrugged.

"I . . . know . . . things," he said defensively. She pressed her lips together and turned back to the droid.

"I'm sorry. I'm afraid I have no more information. Of course, your quarters will remain available until the situation is resolved."

"With the way the TSF investigates, it may be beneficial to purchase a new ship," Kreia murmured.

"The possessions that were confiscated are still here, though?" she asked.

"They are in the TSF armory located behind you." The droid tapped on its console, and the door slid open.

"And how could someone have stolen my ship?"

"I am not qualified to answer that question. However, it is unlikely that someone could steal a starship from under TSF observation without considerable backing."

"I don't want to suggest this," Atton said quietly. "But that sounds like the Exchange. And -"

"And if they have a bounty on Jedi it may be their way of keeping me here," Trista replied, just as quietly.

"That's what I was thinking."

"I do not know what else to suggest, beside waiting for further information."

"Noted," she replied. "I'll retrieve my belongings. Where is Lieutenant Grenn?"

"He will be in his office, further inside this station."

"Thank you." She turned to Atton and Kreia. "Let's get our gear, and I want to have a few words with the Lieutenant."

"I don't suggest murder or anything," Atton said, as they headed into the armory. Trista retrieved her bag, and Atton retrieved their vibroblades and his blasters.

"I was merely going to ask if he had anything we could do while trapped on this station. If not, we will need to speak with Czerka or the Ithorians. We may need to, anyway. If the Sith are indeed going to follow us here, I don't want to be sitting twiddling my thumbs waiting for them." She accepted a vibroblade and started back into the station. Atton sighed, jammed his blasters onto his belt, and trotted after her. Kreia watched the duo before following them, and a random observer may have seen a small smile playing on the old woman's lips, though he would not have known that her eyes were only on the former Jedi.

Trista cleared her throat at Grenn's station, which was right inside the door. He turned.

"Can I help you?"

"I assume you've heard that our ship has been impounded," she said.

"I heard that, yes."

"As we are trapped here for the foreseeable future," she continued. "I wished to ask if there was anything we may be able to assist the TSF with."

#

T3 whistled sharply at the white-robed woman as she entered the hangar bay's observation deck, where he had spent the last few days shackled to a computer while confusingly identical women attempted to download his archives. Most droids would have been unable to resist, but he had been specifically upgraded over his four-year journey with Revan to infiltrate with her, and that had included specific blocks on his databases. Just in case they had ever been captured, and some random Sith had started poking around in his archives for information.

And this woman, Atris . . . he remembered her from the times when he had stayed with his Master at the Jedi Temple before they'd left. If he _had_ been forced to go to the Jedi, rather than his Master's companion, she would have been the _very_ last one he sought out.

"Are you prepared to cooperate today, T3?" she asked, looking down at him. He made an unflattering noise at her. "Please, understand. I am attempting to help your master."

"_T3 =/= stupid. Atris = find Master = distract Master._"

"I merely wish to confirm that Revan is behind these attacks, as I suspect she is."

"_Atris =_" he ended the statement with another rude noise. She sighed heavily, folded her hands behind her, and began to circle his computerized cage.

"If Revan is truly behind what stalks the Jedi, then she must be dealt with. You understand this, I am sure. And if she is not, then your databanks will prove that she is uninvolved. And that _is_ what you want."

T3 was quiet. It was, but he didn't want Atris to see everything. Without a doubt, she would eventually make him unlock the _Hawk_'s navicomputer and would follow his Master, and he couldn't allow that.

But he could divulge enough information to protect his Master . . . couldn't he? With a show of releasing a dejected chirp, he unlocked the surface of his databanks, locking away most of his Master's information but giving her enough to keep her busy.

After all he was sure that the Jedi would come looking for the ship, which would mean she'd come to him. As Atris made a satisfied noise and came to check the screen next to him, he carefully changed the shield around the pole to fluctuate just enough to cause notice should someone look for it, and decided to wait.

That didn't stop him from quietly extending his shock arm and jolting Atris' calf with another raspberry.

#

Atton found Trista quietly nursing a glass of red liquid in the Module 081 cantina, still aware of the looks being cast her way but apparently too lost in her own thoughts to pay them any mind. She barely reacted as Atton slid into the seat next to her, ordering his own drink.

"Shouldn't go wandering off on your own, sweets, with the Exchange after you," he said quietly. She shrugged, but otherwise didn't reply. Even their week-long imprisonment hadn't let him know if this silence was a byproduct of her Jediness, or if she was just a naturally quiet person. So he didn't say anything, glared at a couple of nearby patrons who looked at her the wrong way, and sat with her in silence.

"You know," she started quietly, staring down at the bar. "This is terrifying."

Atton didn't reply, and instead downed his drink in one swallow.

"I don't know what happened, back at Malachor after the generator went off. But I lost my connection to the Force somewhere, and I never looked back. I . . . wanted to lose it, I think. I'd felt horrible things through it, seen horrible things done with it, and I just wanted it to be over."

Atton glanced at her. How drunk was she? And to top it off he was the worst person at this "talk about our feelings" shit . . . what did she expect from him?

"And I ran, for years. Nearly a decade. I just wanted to find a hole and crawl in it and die, ridding the galaxy of all the evil I'd caused, all the pain and hurt. I thought if I disappeared everything would go back to how it'd been.

"And years later I crash on an asteroid and the only ship in the vicinity is a kriffing Republic cruiser and they've been searching for me. _Me!_ And now all this is happening and I'm being hunted and I . . . I just . . . touching the Force again after so many years, it terrifies me. I butchered a world, an entire civilization. I thought it was done with me, I thought I could be content to wallow in my own self-pity but then I can't. I can't because there is no one left, so they see one more Jedi that needs to die, even if I've not been one for a decade." She sniffed slightly, scrubbing her eyes with her sleeve. "Why can it not just leave me alone?"

Atton knew how she felt - possibly more than she did, he figured. Without a word he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, letting her lean her head against his neck. "It's all right," he murmured, though he knew that both of them knew it wasn't.

They sat like that for a while, Atton continuing to stare down people giving them looks as Trista kept her face buried in his neck, barely moving. Someone sat on her other side and Atton pulled his arm protectively tighter, one hand resting pointedly on his blaster. The Twi'lek glanced at him and quickly moved away, deciding quickly that a booth was probably a better option.

"Come on, let's get you back to the apartment," Atton finally said. He pulled her to her feet and paid the bartender - she'd racked up quite the impressive tab - and half-walked, half-carried her back towards their housing.

They had barely made it out of the cantina when a man approached them, flanked by a Rodian and an Aqualish. Atton let his hand fall to his blaster, glaring at him, as Trista wavered slightly on her feet and straightened herself up. One of her hands tugged at her jacket, resettling it.

"Ah, you must be the Jedi everyone's talking about," the man said. "No more trouble with the TSF, eh?"

"It's been lovely," she replied, somehow managing to not sound half as intoxicated as she was. He eyed her, and Atton tightened his hand on his blaster. "And I'm no Jedi."

"Then you haven't heard the popular rumors. Jedi or not, _you_'re the talk of the station. Everyone from the TSF to Czerka is curious." He took a step forward. Trista stood her ground.

"Back the hell off," Atton said, pushing him back. He laughed.

"You don't know who I am then," he replied sharply.

"Some half-witted Hutt-spawn with an inflated ego," he retorted.

"Stop," Trista chided, resting her hand on his arm. Atton glanced at her, but didn't relax. Of course he'd be stuck with a drunk Jedi with a bounty on her head in a situation like this.

"Let me introduce myself," he continued, dark eyes still on Atton. The man scowled. "Benok. In charge of Loppak Slusk's protection. You've . . . heard of Loppak Slusk, haven't you?"

"No." Atton's tone was sharp.

"These gentlemen are Matu and Nahata, Slusk's best men. Apart from me, of course." He paused. "Would you like to try me again?"

Atton started to answer, but before he could Trista had pulled him back. "Please be on your way," she said.

"Leave her alone, Benok. She'd come out on top if you fought." Another woman's voice interrupted, and a pale, red-haired and slightly-dressed woman stepped out of the cantina. He uncomfortably eyed her - now he had to watch two sides, rather than one. _And_ keep an eye on her. Sithspit. Just . . . sithspit.

"We have this under control," Trista said calmly. Atton was almost surprised that he believed her.

"Now, Luxa, I meant no disrespect. You're probably Slusk's strongest woman." Benok obviously didn't think so, if his tone was any indication. "I'm just having a conversation here. No need to get involved."

Atton noticed the man's hand move first, and stepped to intercept it before it could latch around Trista's wrist and probably cause a full-out fight. He wouldn't have, but the Jedi had been looking back at Luxa and had apparently not noticed.

_Apparently_, because her hand snapped out in a millisecond and clamped around Benok's wrist, then twisted. The loud _snap_ resonated in the hall outside the cantina, and the fact that she had managed to create enough force with one hand to snap his forearm _didn't_ escape Atton's notice. With barely a reaction, she turned her head.

"Please, go to wherever you were headed," she said. Benok staggered back when she released him. "I was not looking for trouble."

"This isn't over, you realize," he snapped, before turning and hurrying off. Luxa chuckled behind them.

"I like you," she said, as the duo turned. "Come see me tomorrow after you've sobered up."

She disappeared back into the cantina, and Atton carefully rested his hand on Trista's arm - tentatively, because he was pretty sure he wouldn't want to have the same thing she did to Benok happen to him. Fortunately, she didn't react similarly, and merely looked back at him with half-lidded green eyes.

"Come on," he said. "I'll bet Slusk's exchange. If that guy said he'd be back, he'll be back. With friends."

Trista nodded, and almost immediately seemed more intoxicated again as she leaned into him. Atton sighed and steered her towards the taxi.

The shuttle ride was tedious but at least the Exile was a well-behaved drunk, and as they reached the apartment she looked up at him. "Thank you, Atton," she said quietly. He nodded, reflecting that it was the first time she'd used his name.

"Don't worry about it," he answered, keying in the code for their door. He froze when she leaned in and gave him a small kiss on his cheek before stumbling through the door as it opened, and collapsing onto the closest cot. He looked back at Kreia, giving him a disapproving look from under her hood, and scowled in her direction. Trista didn't seem to notice, toeing off her boots from her facedown position on the bed.

"What?" he snapped.

"You should remove any untoward intentions from your mind," she chided.

"Oh, shut up," Atton replied, turning and leaving the apartment. At this point, a walk was probably his best option.

* * *

**A/N: **And sadly, that brings us to our brief hiatus. See you all as soon as I can update. :(


	13. Chapter 12

**A/N: **Ohai. I still exist. I have me an apartment and I should be able to start writing the first draft of my thesis soon, so I thought I'd drop a chapter in here.  
I lost Trista for a bit, but I think I've got her back. So we'll see if she cooperates.

**12**

The next day Trista was thankfully not hung-over - when Atton asked, she muttered something about Jedi that he didn't catch - and they set out.

The Ithorian complex was fairly close, but still past Telos' Czerka headquarters. However, Trista made no indication that she cared that she was walking right past Czerka, and headed straight for the Ithorians. Atton pointed at Czerka as they walked past, but kept his mouth shut as he jogged to catch up with her. Kreia drifted along behind them, silent as always.

The door to the Ithorian compound was open, and Trista didn't slow as she walked through. The flat-headed alien at the front desk looked up. "_How may I help you, human?_"

"Moza sent me to speak with Chodo Habat." Her voice was flat. Atton grimaced slightly - god, she could turn the Jedi on and off, couldn't she?

The Ithorian's eyes widened. "_You must be the Jedi he spoke of._" She opened her mouth to argue, but never got the chance. "_I will open the doors for you now, and inform Chodo Habat of your arrival. A guide will meet you inside._"

"Thank you," she said instead as he waved her through. Atton followed her, one hand tapping on his gun. He didn't think the Ithorians would do anything, but after the _Hawk_ had been stolen and it was likely that the Exchange was involved, he didn't want to leave that to chance.

An Ithorian met them, and motioned for them to follow. They did, and Trista did her best to pretend she didn't see the the looks the Ithorians were casting her. She swallowed, and straightened her shoulders.

"You'd think you were a god," Atton murmured, out of the corner of his mouth.

"Not the first time that's happened," Trista replied cryptically, just as quietly.

The Ithorian motioned them through a door, and they recognized Moza standing at one end of the room. Next to him was another Ithorian that he was engaged in deep conversation with, working at another desk and surrounded by piles of datapads and plant samples. He looked up and caught sight of them and stood, hurrying over.

"_It gladdens me that you came, Jedi,_" he said, looking as if only a need for decorum was keeping him from embracing her. "_I am Chodo Habat, the leader of this herd. It is not my intention to impose our troubles on you, but I did not know where to turn until I had heard of your arrival._"

"Right," Trista said, holding up her hand. "Firstly, I'm not a Jedi."

"_I apologize. I hope I have not offended you. It is just that I sensed an echo in the Force upon your arrival - a subtle disturbance, but I was able to detect it. I suspected you were one of the remaining Jedi, and that you could help us if you chose. That is why I sent Moza to seek you out. But if you are not Jedi, then perhaps you may help us just the same._"

"You didn't think we'd have our own problems?" Atton asked. Trista held up her hand.

"You are having trouble with Czerka?"

"_We are. Moza explained our reconstruction efforts?_" Trista nodded. "_We are attempting to reconstruct the planet as nature would intend. Czerka uses the planet for material gain, under the auspicious claim of 'financial support.' In their pursuit of economic gain they destroy the work we have done._"

"And the government has done nothing?"

Atton shook his head. "It's the Senate, Tris. You expect them to do anything?"

She glanced over at him, then nodded. "Fair point." Trista turned back to Chodo. "And your current goal?"

"_We merely wish to see the project moving forward again._" She didn't miss the way his eyes strayed to Kreia for a moment.

:: I do not approve of this course of action. ::

:: I plan on speaking with Czerka next. We will see, :: Trista replied, half listening as Chodo explained circumstances surrounding a droid intelligence being delivered to them, a replacement for one that he suspected was stolen by Czerka.

:: We do not have time to manage this petty squabble. They should be left to sort it out on their own. ::

:: We're virtual prisoners on this station until this Republic ship arrives, and then we will be escorted to Coruscant. These 'enemies' will find us sooner or later. _Until_ we have a way to leave, we have nothing _else_ to do. And I suspect that the Ithorians will be more willing to help us search for the _Hawk_ on the planet's surface than Czerka will, if you are so _intent_ on keeping the ship. ::

Kreia was silent, but she could feel the fact that she was less than impressed.

"Then you want us to escort your new droid to ensure that it reaches here safely," Trista said. Atton was still standing silently next to her, finger tapping on his gun.

"_Yes. The TSF has offered a small escort, but Czerka is discreetly providing support to the Exchange in return for their services. I do not trust them to not interfere._"

"I will see," Trista replied. "Is that all?"

"_Yes. If you agree . . . Thank you. The droid is being delivered to Bay Two, Dock Module 126. And thank you again._" He inclined his flat head, and Trista answered with a nod of her own before turning and leaving.

Once in the module, Atton glanced between Trista and Kreia as Trista started towards the Czerka offices. Damn it, he hated Jedi. He knew the duo had carried on a conversation mentally while Habat had been talking, and it made him uncomfortable. But really all Jedi made him uncomfortable, and that had just been one of the many reasons for it.

Never trust a conversation you couldn't hear.

Once in the Czerka branch, the droid attendant - B-4D4 - directed them to Lorso's office. Trista was even more taken aback by the sheer number of mercenaries hanging around in the office's lobby area. They were clearly not Czerka employees - they didn't wear uniforms, and they were far rougher-looking than the uniformed Czkera guards and workers. And, much to her concern, a few of them spotted her as they wove their way through desks and workers, and she hoped that she was imagining the gigantic credit sign she thought hovered over her head in many of their eyes.

As they walked down the hall to Lorso's office, they were confronted with a Rodian and a Devaronian, both heavily armed. Trista held out her hand, stopping Atton in his tracks. "Those are the two Grenn was after," she hissed at him. Atton's fingers curled around the hilt of his right-hand blaster as the men drew closer.

"We aren't going to try and take 'em here, are we?" he replied quietly. There was zero cover in the hallway, nothing to block blasters with, and he was _sure_ she wouldn't be so stupid-

"Of course not," she replied.

"_-shuttle for the restoration zone_," the Devaronian was saying as they walked by. "_We should hurry._"

"_Must be quick, yes,_" the Rodian agreed, glancing at the trio as they passed. Trista barely returned their suspicious look.

"We'll tell Grenn," she said quietly. "They're probably heading to one of the Czerka-held zones. Possibly one they just got from the Ithorians."

He nodded. "Better than taking them out here."

"Meanwhile, let's finish our chat with Czerka." She continued down the hall, and Atton glanced back to make sure the two mercenaries weren't taking an interest in them. His eyes drifted to Kreia, who was looking at him with what seemed like an amused look, and he scowled at her.

"What?"

"Nothing, fool," she replied, brushing past him. Atton glared after her and followed.

"You're Jana Lorso?" Trista asked as she strode - no, he would almost call that a drift - into the main Czerka office. The woman at the desk looked up.

"And you must be the Jedi." She stood, holding out her hand. Trista glanced at it, then crossed her arms over her chest. Lorso quickly understood, and lowered it. "I am confident that we will be able to reach a working agreement satisfactory to both of us, Miss Morace. On behalf of-"

"I would prefer we reach the point," Trista said. "And the TSF satisfactorily welcomed me to Telos, I assure you." She couldn't wait to get off Telos. Her welcome to the planet had been far too intensive. "I assume you want my help against the Ithorians?"

"I- yes. Do you understand why?"

"I assume it is a typical corporate line. The Ithorians are in the way of your financial benefit and you want them to step aside."

Atton wasn't entirely sure how she understood corporate policies after spending a decade outside civilized space. What the hell else did she have shoved in that pretty head of hers?

"It is more than that, I assure you. The Ithorians will bankrupt the budget within another month. His expensive policy of relocating biological specimens from Onderon with no planning is unfeasible in the long run. They will run out of funding before even half of the restoration zones have been completed."

"And Czerka won't?"

"No. We use the planet's own resources to fund the restoration, improving the project in the long run. Habat, on the other hand, is selfish."

"Or perhaps Czerka's use of the planet's resources is dangerous and damages the project?" Trista said. When Lorso opened her mouth, she held up her hand. "But forgive me, I'm not an environmental engineer, as you obviously are."

Atton snickered.

"The surface of Telos is covered with military facilities that were either destroyed or abandoned during the Sith attack. We simply salvage materials from these sites to be reprocessed and put back into service, or resold to help fund the project."

"In other words, you . . . go into a site, find that it has old Republic tech, and then sell it back to the Republic."

"I . . . suppose you could say that."

"Right." Trista didn't sound very impressed. "And what is it you want me to do, apart from drive the Ithorians out of the restoration project and become involved in a very clever racketeering scheme?"

Lorso almost looked ready to comment, then didn't. "The Ithorians have ordered a new droid intelligence. Bring it here, and you'll be rewarded."

Trista gave her a curt nod, and started to leave. Before she did, she turned back on her heel. "Did you employ a man named Batano?"

"I don't know."

"He worked _your_ docks," she replied. "I assumed you would _know_ about a worker of yours feeding information to the TSF about illegal Czerka operations. Judging from this," she waved her hand. "Czerka runs a very tight ship. I'm sure you know the man I'm talking about."

She was silent for a while. "He disappeared," she finally said, tersely. "And I've yet to hear what happened to him. You may want to check the Ithorians. He had a deep love of those pacificstic morons."

"Thank you for your time," Trista replied, just as terse, turning and heading back for the door.

Once in the wide module corridor, she wrapped her coat closer around her and headed towards the shuttle. Atton jogged to catch up. "Hey. Tris. What the hell was that?"

"You learn a lot about reading people when you know Revan," she replied simply. "And, you learn how to speak corporate, though that was more Alek's talent than ours. We will go and fetch the droid intelligence, then speak with Chodo Habat. He may know where this man Grenn wants is, and I suspect there may be a way for us to reach the planet's surface with the Ithorian's help."

"So . . . we're just gonna ignore Czerka?" She glanced over at him. "They have a reputation, is all. They can make your life pretty hard if they want to."

"We'll have to hope they don't want to," she replied simply.

#

The ride to the shuttle bay took only a matter of minutes, but it felt like hours. The silence did it, really, since neither Kreia nor Trista seemed to be in much of a talking mood. Not that Kreia ever was, and Trista was only marginally better than she was on any given day. Atton paced one end of the public transit shuttle, which had found itself suspiciously empty when people had spotted the two non-Jedi-but-still-Jedi waiting for it.

The shuttle bay rented to the Ithorians sat right in front of the transit landing pad, and Atton was out the door before the other two had stood. Trista swung down after him, and he didn't miss that she kept one hand on her vibrosword.

"Expecting trouble?"

She nodded at the blaster he already held in his hand. "Aren't you?"

He glanced down and shrugged, looking back up at her with a sideways grin. "Aren't I always, sweets?"

Atton may have been imagining it, but he thought that may have been the glint of a smile he saw in her face as she turned and started forward. She told the Ithorian manning the door what they were there for, and he let them through with little hassle. Inside, there was a grand total of three Ithorians, a droid, and a sole TSF officer.

"Oh," Trista said immediately upon entering. "_This_ was going to end well."

"Thank the stars you're here," the TSF officer immediately said, stepping forward and saluting. "Officer Hallock, ma'am. They said someone would be coming down to help. I don't expect trouble, but you never know."

"There will be difficulties," Kreia said simply.

"Like the guys who just walked in?" Trista had never quite been thankful for Atton's "bad feelings" before, but as she turned to catch him staring behind them towards the door, she was. About ten individuals had entered the bay, a few humans with a spattering of aliens - she saw one Trandoshan, which could be a problem - all armed, and mostly armored.

Trista held out her hand at the Ithorians. "You should take your droid behind the shuttle," she warned. "Unless you're willing to fight, you'll be of little use."

None of the four argued, quickly ushering the new droid out of sight.

"Atton, Officer Hallock, give us cover fire." Atton let himself be surprised that she'd used his name while sober, but nodded and pointed Hallock to one side of what would be the field. As he passed, he patted her arm.

"Don't play hero too hard, sweets," he said, before jogging off. Trista glanced after him, then returned her attention to the front.

"Kreia-"

"I will support you."

"I . . . All right." Trista wasn't about to argue, and turned back to the gang. "Hello! I-"

"Don't start talking, Jedi bitch," one of them said, obviously the leader, as she held out her blaster directly at Trista's head. She raised her hands. "Hand over the droid, and yourself, and we won't kill everyone in this hangar."

She swallowed when the other nine fell into an actual military stance, the Trandoshan standing at the rear, vibrosword hanging lazily from his big hand. Trista eyed it.

"I'm sure we can talk this out," Trista replied. "If we all just _drop our weapons_ . . ."

One of them started to falter, only for the man next to him to strike the back of his head. "You idiot! That's a Jedi trick!"

"Kill everyone," the leader ordered. "Capture the Jedi bitch alive and take the droid."

Almost immediately, two things happened. The leader was suddenly thrown violently into the air, blaster clattering to the ground as her hands leapt to her throat. Two blaster bolts whipped past Trista's head as her vibrosword sprung into her hand, drilling the lifted woman in her forehead and chest. Kreia's hand moved next to her, throwing the woman to the side.

Trista moved, throwing out her left hand. Three of the hapless attackers found themselves bowled over as Hallock and Atton distracted the other six, and Trista headed straight for the Trandoshan. With a throaty growl he met her blade, the force of the parry vibrating through into her arm. Trista slipped under his blade, forcing the bulky alien into an awkward spin. He brought his sword down hard onto her head, and she parried it, forced to use the Force to strengthen the block. He grunted, and she raised her hand, throwing him into the air - a second later, he was impaled on her vibrosword. She looked back, pulled her sword out, and examined the carnage.

Five or so of the mercenaries had fallen to Atton or Hallock. The other four bore no telltale signs of weaponry, but Kreia was standing to the side with her mouth set in a smug line as she studied her hand with her sightless eyes. "You should fetch the droid and the Ithorians," she suggested. "Once this attack has been known to fail-"

"Others will show up. Come on!" she yelled back to the Ithorians, sheathing her sword. "Atton, stop going through their pockets."

He shrugged, pocketing several more cred-sticks. "Not like we have any money right now. Just settin' up a retirement fund, if I live that long after dealing with you."

She pursed her lips, but didn't comment.

"Besides." He straightened and handed her a blaster. "Take a look at that."

"While we walk," she said, taking it and turning it over in her hands as she started for the door. "Come on."

#

Atton was amazed how fast things could move.

After escorting the droid back to the Ithorians and being asked to wait while they determined their next moves, Kreia announced that she was 'tired' and would be returning to the apartment, leaving them to their own devices in the main area of the Ithorian enclave. Neither spoke much, Trista staring out the window with her arms crossed as Atton paced behind her.

After about an hour, they were called back in. Habat met them and, with barely any greeting, stated quite simply, "_The mercenaries that attacked you in the docking bay were hired by Czerka from the Exchange. It is merely one more example of their collaboration. We would like you to speak to the local Exchange leader and insist they cease their cooperation._"

Atton and Trista exchanged a look.

"You do realize," Trista started. "That I'm a walking credit sign to the Exchange."

"_We trust that will be no issue to a Jedi_."

"And I am _not_ a Jedi."

"_Yes. Again. I apologize._"

"Now I _really_ wish I was still in my cell," Atton muttered, drawing his fingers hard across his forehead.


	14. Chapter 13

**A/N:** All right, second chapter of the day and farewell until whenever I update again.  
It'll be more regular once I have my first draft done. I'll pretty much be doing edits, rewrites and fanficing. With a bit of going through my game backlog.

* * *

**13**

"I thought you were cutting back on the drinking."

Trista looked up at Atton as he stopped in front of her booth, arms crossed. "So did I." She motioned for him to sit next to her, and he set his own glass down and settled in. "I'm here on business."

"Business meeting in a cantina. Best kind." He leaned back against the booth. "And what unfortunate soul are you going to pester today?"

She shrugged, studying the cantina. "The Exchange."

Atton sat bolt upright. "Are you serious?" he snapped. "Look, I don't know how out of touch you are with the galaxy but -"

"Shush." She frowned, sipping her drink. "I did survive on the Rim for ten years."

"Hasn't seemed much like it," he muttered sullenly, though his mind went back to where she'd snapped Benok's arm without looking.

"You try having the Force push its way back into your head, unwarranted, and see if it doesn't throw you off balance," she retorted. "I'm starting to come to terms with it. It's getting easier to focus on everything else without _that_ screeching 'look at me' in my head."

"Great, so, the first thing you do with your newfound 'sanity' is arrange a meeting with the Exchange," he grumbled. "By the way, I use 'sanity' very loosely here."

"Not really the Exchange," she replied.

"There you are." The woman who had tried to step into their issue with Benok settled down across from them. "Luxa. We met previously."

"Yes." Trista accepted her hand and shook it. "Trista Morace, as I'm sure you are aware. This is Atton Rand."

"Currently functioning as a glorified bodyguard," he said, though he didn't extend his own hand. "Just, if you were wondering."

"I wasn't." She redirected her attention to Trista. "So what do you want, Jedi?"

"First, I want everyone to stop calling me that," she said. "I'm not a Jedi."

"Shame. But fair enough. Can't speak for everyone, you know. There's a lot of preconceived notions about you around here."

"Secondly, I want to know if the Exchange has my ship."

"I don't know. But I can find out. Is that the only reason you distracted me?"

"No," she said. "I need to arrange a meeting with your boss."

"Lopak Slusk? What d'you need to see the squid-head for?"

"I'm working with the Ithorians. They want the Exchange to back off. I would ask you, but I'm sure going directly to the boss would be more efficient."

Luxa nodded thoughtfully. "I can get you in . . . provided one thing." Trista nodded, and she continued. "You kill Lopak Slusk."

"I'm not a hitman," Trista replied. "If those are your terms, I'll go with making a phone call."

She shook her head. "He will likely not listen to you. Or, really, be interested at all. Put me in charge, I'll make sure we back off the Ithorians. Hate working with Czerka anyway."

Trista pursed her lips. Atton glanced at her, not sure if she was buying it or not. "Get us into the Exchange, and we'll see."

Luxa nodded. "Fair enough. I'll spread the word; come by tomorrow morning. That should be enough time." She stood, saluting in a somewhat sarcastic manner as she left. "See you later, Jedi."

Atton shook his head as she disappeared. "Are you serious?"

"As a rancor pit." Trista casually sipped at her drink.

"This is insane." He held up his hands and shook his head as he stood. "I mean, really. I've done some crazy things, but this is insane." She watched as he stood and headed for the pazaak den.

:: He is correct. Our time would be more efficiently spent elsewhere. ::

:: The Ithorians have shuttles to the restoration zones, :: Trista replied. :: If we help them, they can provide us with passage. ::

:: You are becoming distracted by the affairs of a sole planet, :: Kreia chided. :: Do you not think there are other planets more deserving of your aid? Or, perhaps, a galaxy that needs a guiding hand to avert destruction? The restoration effort is doomed to failure without fuel. There is no reason to help these people. ::

:: Again I ask, what else would you have me do? :: Trista snapped irritably. :: Sit around and wait for the _Ebon Hawk_ to fall into our laps, or for the Republic ship to take us to Coruscant? I have never done well with waiting. ::

:: If I recall the history of the Mandalorian War it was _you_ who urged Revan to take the less expedient road. :: Trista nursed her drink irritably, trying not to think about what Kreia was saying. :: She feared the Mandalorians would resort to a war of attrition should it not end quickly. You did not agree. ::

:: Revan and I didn't agree on a lot of things, :: Trista said quietly. :: That was merely one of many. ::

:: And yet you followed her order, but did not follow the one she gave when she left for the Unknown Regions. Curious. ::

:: I wanted us to return to the Jedi. To seek help and forgiveness. We fought. She left. That is all there is to that. :: The memory brought up her harsh previous nightmare, and she coughed when she nearly choked on her drink.

:: Indeed. ::

Kreia fell silent and Trista quickly finished her drink, paid for it, and left.

Outside she wrapped her jacket around herself, despite the air inside Citadel Station not being cold, and walked along the entertainment module. This part of the station was on its night cycle, and was quiet except for the always-present music of the cantina. There were no apartments here, and the further away from the cantina she got the fewer people she saw.

Regaining the Force had thrown her, hard. To go from a decade of being alone, nearly dead in her own head to suddenly feeling life, feeling energy all around her - to feeling like a Jedi again - it had been like being tossed off a cliff into a raging torrent. It had deafened her just as wholly as the battle at Malachor V. But her feet were back up under her, and she thought that just perhaps - maybe - she was getting used to the new normal.

She still had to deal with people, again, of course. That was taking some getting used to. While she'd run into people during her exile, and in fact sought them out on occasion, the moments had been few and far between. She had been too content to take the odd job here or there, too transient to settle in one place, too worried that if she'd stopped running she would just have her past find her again.

But something seemed to hold her back. The torrent of the Force felt hollow, like there was something necrotic eating at it. It felt close, like she could turn around and touch it if she closed her eyes. It scared her, made her wary of seeking it out. But she could feel it, all the time, no matter what, even when she didn't want to. Even now it felt like it loomed behind her, threatening to overwhelm her if she'd just let it.

"Looking a little lost," someone said, interrupting her musing. She snapped out of it, staring down the man who had interrupted her.

"I'm walking," she replied. "Unless that's a crime now."

For the first time, she didn't bother trying to act like a Jedi. What did it matter? She wasn't one - why she had even been bothering to emulate one didn't matter anymore. People would expect what they would expect, and that was their own prerogative. She was already tired of the ruse - she had enough to exhaust her without it.

"Nah," the man said. She sensed more than saw the two men with him, who had come up behind her. "But there's a bounty on your head. Put out by the Exchange on the 'pretty little Jedi bitch.' That means you, sweetheart. So come along quiet or we'll make you."

"You're sorely mistaken," she replied. "You're even more mistaken if you think you can manhandle me."

"Didn't think we sent the impression we were asking," he snapped, locking her wrist in a vice-like grip. She swallowed, instinctively attempting to pull away.

She had little doubt that the second bounty had come out from Benok, as revenge for humiliating him. So, because it was of a secondary Exchange member, she would not be taken to Slusk. Therefore, any attempt to actually let these men take her to the Exchange would not work into what she had initially considered, and therefore she would not go quietly. Especially when the intelligence of at least the ringleader seemed incredibly low, which meant even her cooperation would not end well.

That meant a fight and, at the moment, she almost wanted to oblige them.

"Let go," she said calmly, letting herself relax. "I assure you, I'm far more than you can handle."

"Ain't seen much more than talk right now," he growled. "You gone come quiet, or -"

Trista slammed her elbow into his arm, forcing his hand open. She jerked away, a swift kick forcing him back. One of the other two men encroached on her back, and she swiftly drew her vibrosword and swung it back on the draw, cutting a deep wound across his chest. A quick spin of the blade sliced down across her other assailant's chest, and she turned to smack the flat into the original man's head, laying him out flat.

Steps alerted her to a group of TSF officers, who hurried onto the scene. She sheathed her sword and stepped back. Cameras. Made sense, this close to the 081 TSF Office.

"I was being assaulted," Trista explained, when a few of them looked back at her. "I warned them I'd be more than they could handle. They were not willing to listen." She motioned. "None of them should be dead, though they will need medical attention."

"Stay there, for now."

Trista thrust her hands into her pockets, waiting.

"Tris. There you are." She looked over as Atton sprinted up, then eyed the men. "Just followed the closest TSF patrol, figured I'd run into you. What-"

"Benok must have put a bounty out on me," she explained. "I was jumped."

He scowled, shaking his head. "Not surprised. Exchange mooks tend to be sensitive." Atton set his hands on her shoulders, looking her over. "You okay?"

"Fine," she replied with a nod. "It's my fault. I wasn't paying attention to how far away I was getting. I just needed to . . . clear my head a bit."

"Just, be careful," Atton said. "You know, don't get yourself killed or anything. It's apparently bad for the galaxy or something."

To his surprise she replied with a half-smile. "Or something."

"Master Jedi, Grenn says you can leave," one of the TSF officers said. Trista sighed, started to correct him, then just nodded.

"Thank you."

"Probably best for us to head back to the apartment," Atton said. Trista nodded in agreement.

"Probably. How did the pazaak go?"

He shrugged. "Good enough. Didn't have much to start with, but made a few credits."

"Good," Trista replied. "At least, someone has something around here."

"Yeah." He shrugged. "Better than nothing." Atton glanced over at her. "You're sure you're all right?"

She nodded, thinking back to her revelation. "Why wouldn't I be?"

He shook his head. "No clue." At least he no longer had a question about whether or not she could defend herself. He still was concerned - after all one show of competence did not erase several ones of incompetence - but he was starting to think he may have misjudged.

That, or she was turning back into a Jedi. He sighed as they stepped into the shuttle.

"Kreia going to come raid the Exchange with us tomorrow?" he asked in the silence. Trista shrugged.

"Search me."

:: I may not agree with this course of action, and while you would survive if you went yourself, I will accompany you. ::

"She's coming."

Atton motioned. "You did the thing again."

Trista blinked. "What thing?"

"You glassed over for a second."

"Kreia."

"Ugh." One of those gods-damned silent conversations, then. "She talking in your head?"

:: The fool may not be as foolish as he sounds. ::

"Yeah," Trista replied. "She does it a lot, actually."

:: If you would listen I would need to do it less. ::

Never trust a conversation you can't hear, Atton thought. "Well, as long as she's doing it to you and not me."

:: Possibly because I would not waste my time with him. ::

Trista released an aggravated huff. Atton glanced over at her, but didn't comment.

#

The next day was a busy one.

The trio left for the Exchange early, fighting their way to Slusk's office, and being forced to kill Luxa when Slusk seemed surprisingly willing to cooperate. Chodo Habat, despite being upset over the bloodshed, was happy that the Exchange would leave them alone. Trista managed to get him to release information on the man Grenn was looking for, and they escorted him back to Grenn's office while Chodo Habat was determining their next move. Kreia returned to the apartment, and Atton and Trista to Habat's office.

Once they returned however, it was clear that they had not been expecting what he had planned.

"You want us to do what to the Czerka receptionist droid?"

"_With a pair of droid technician credentials, B4-D4 will leave with you. You will bring him here and we will reprogram him to access and download the Czerka mainframe. With that information, we will be able to expose Czerka Corporation, and return the restoration project to its intended course._"

Trista sighed. If it wasn't one thing ... "Right, so where do we get these credentials?"

"_There is a Czerka droid mechanic in this apartment._" Habat handed her a datapad. "_We have it on authority that he has a substantial debt to the Exchange, which forces him to work for Czerka. Explain the situation, and return him here. We will offer to pay off his debt in exchange for his assistance._"

Trista was slowly beginning to regret the necessity of working with the Ithorians, but reminded herself it was better than sitting around doing nothing. "Very well. We'll return shortly." She nodded to Atton, and the duo started back out.

"Escort duty. Exactly the sort of thing you need your volunteers for," he said quietly. Trista shrugged.

"It's better than sitting around waiting for the Sith to fall into our laps," she replied.

They were quiet as they started into the rest of the apartments. Atton finally cleared his throat. "So. You worked with Revan."

She glanced over at him and hesitated before answering. "I was second only to Alek. Er, Malak."

Atton didn't look over at her. "What was she like, during the war?"

Trista paused again. "She could have been the best Jedi the Order had seen since Nomi Sunrider," she said quietly. "Her failings were great, but she was more a Jedi than the ones sitting on the Council could have dreamed to be." She would always believe that, even if no one else did.

"Yeah, except she fell. There were Sith teachings in the ranks before Malachor - not like she wasn't halfway there then."

Trista stopped, and turned to face him. "How do you know that?"

"I was military. What, that surprise you? Just about everyone was. Happens when the galaxy is fighting itself."

Made sense. Trista nodded and kept walking.

"I don't know why she fell," Trista said. "I urged her not to go, but whatever she found in the Unknown Regions completed the process. If you want insight, I have none. I haven't seen her between Malachor and now to ask."

:: You have suspicions. ::

:: Not particularly. ::

"Will you two stop that?" She glanced over at him. "Look, just flaunting it about out there will get all three of us killed."

:: That, I seriously doubt. ::

:: He's right. It isn't fair to him. ::

:: He is unimportant in these events. ::

Trista huffed and glanced back over at him. "But no, I've very little idea why Revan fell. But I know she did nothing without a reason. If she fell, it was because there was no other alternative - of that, I'm sure. She was far too practical, had far too practical of a view on the Force."

Atton didn't reply initially. "Why'd you follow her?"

"She was -" Trista stopped herself, and swallowed. "We were close. I was the second person she approached after the Council shot down her concerns about the Mandalorians. There was no way I couldn't help, not when it was completely clear that the Republic would fall without Jedi intervention. I think this is the apartment."

Atton checked a datapad and nodded. "It is."

Trista knocked, a solid tap-tap-tap that almost perfectly mimicked a peace officer's. A Duros opened the door, glancing between them.

"_Have a droid needing fixed?_" he asked. Trista shook her head.

"We have a message for you," she said. "We need your credentials."

" _. . . er . . . why?_"

"We're borrowing Czerka's protocol droid to download the Czerka mainframe and expose their corruption."

Atton rolled his eyes. "Usually people wait before revealing everything, Tris."

"_. . . come in._"

They did. He closed the door behind them.

"_That is a noble cause. Unfortunately I cannot help._" He busied himself with something on his workbench. "_I owe a large sum to the Exchange. It is them who force me to work for Czerka. Without the debt paid off, I cannot even let you borrow them._"

"The Ithorians are prepared to give you the money for your debt, in exchange for reprogramming the droid," Trista said. "You will keep your credentials as well, but you will be working on your own."

The Duros thought for a long while, considering his workbench very intently. "I . . . I will help," he said. "_Czerka treats their employees rather painfully at times, especially their contractors. Any opportunity I have to damage their reputation, I will take._" He collected a bag of items. "_I will accompany you to the Ithorian compound. If we are stopped, I will say I am performing a job. We should not be questioned too harshly._" He opened his door, and they started towards the compound.


	15. Chapter 14

A/N: Well, I'm sitting in my new apartment and I finally stopped playing games long enough to work on fic and ... surprisingly ... I wrote like, four chapters for WhiP. So, ah, expect updates for the next couple of days.

Thanks for reviews and all and I hope you enjoy. :3

* * *

**14**

"We need to stop meeting like this. People will talk. And stuff."

Trista glanced up as Atton sank down across from her. He noted she wasn't drinking this time, but had ordered food and water instead.

"Nothing to do while B4 hacks the mainframe," she said, shrugging. "We did our job. I got hungry. Besides we're on TSF credits right now, and I decided I didn't want ration bars for the twentieth time this week."

They sat in silence for a while. Atton finally cleared his throat.

"What do we do if the Ithorians don't have a shuttle for us?"

"Sorry?"

He repeated the question, and she frowned. "Sit and wait for the Republic to take us into custody, I suppose," she said thoughtfully. "However I don't see why they wouldn't."

"Neither do I. But we could be here for years resolving the problems between Czerka and the Ithorians. Years, you know, that we don't have."

Trista shook her head. "We can't start thinking like that. We do and we may as well find Sleeps-With-Vibroblades and hand ourselves over."

Atton smirked when he heard her use his nickname for the Sith from Peragus. "I don't think either of us will be doing that."

"No," Trista replied. "I'll steal a TSF ship before that happens. Besides, I already made an arrangement with Habat. We do this for him, he gives us a small sum of credits - enough to fuel up, at least - and a shuttle to a restoration zone. He claims there's someone there who can help us find the _Hawk_ - claims being the operative word."

"Let me guess - the last _Czerka-claimed_ restoration zone."

"Yes."

"Fabulous." Atton poked at his drink. "Then what?"

"I don't know." She rested her head on her hand. "I would say find the surviving Jedi, but I don't even know if there are any. It may be that we head to Coruscant anyway, search the Temple Archives for clues. There must be information somewhere.

"And, if we find nothing . . ." She shrugged. "Then we'll have to do something else."

"Can't believe you were a general once," Atton muttered. Trista half-smiled at him again.

"It's difficult to call the shots when you have no information on anything," she replied. "I just wish I knew who, if anyone, survived."

"Can't help you there," Atton said. "Heard rumors through the Exchange, nothing more. One got spotted on a Republic ship, so they said, but couldn't get close enough for an ID. Definitely couldn't have gotten 'em away for the bounty anyway. Few have cropped up for a couple seconds on some Rim worlds. Rumors of one on Onderon too."

"Dantooine?"

"Still messed over from when Malak bombed it." He shook his head. "If anyone's there, they're both laying low and living in a wreck."

She sighed.

"So no, can't help you there."

"More than we'd known, though. That means some are still alive, and maybe know about the Sith." She stared at the booth seat behind him thoughtfully. "I was considering heading for Dantooine next. I'm wary of Coruscant for a number of reasons, but I'm sure there's archival material in the Enclave."

"Malak probably grabbed it all."

"Doubtful. He was never one for the books. That was all Revan."

Atton shook his head. "We go to Dantooine, and you're really going to have to stop the Jedi act, you know."

That shook her out of her reverie. "What for?"

"You think this sector's hostile? Wait 'til you see them. They still blame the Jedi for Malak bombing the place."

She shook her head back, returning to her drink. "I'm sure it can't be that bad," she said.

Atton scoffed. "Sister, you're lucky you _don't_ have a lightsaber. If you started waving one around everyone'd be on you. This isn't the Mandalorian Wars, when you all started being heroes again. This is after the frakking Jedi nearly tore the damn galaxy apart over a religious difference.

"Oh, and as a side note? I wouldn't go around saying you used to be buddy-buddy with Revan. I don't think that'll go over very well anymore."

"She saved the Republic. Twice."

"After nearly destroying it there in the middle. People tend to take that a bit more seriously, you know." He leaned back in his chair. "I'd just prefer you don't get brutally murdered."

"I didn't know you cared."

"Who says I do?" He shrugged again.

Trista mused for a moment. His words actually spoke with some truth, if what she'd seen so far had been any indication. The miners had treated her unconscious self with a mixture of uncertainty and the giant flash of a credit sign, and the TSF had been jumpy around her. No matter how many times she asserted that she wasn't a Jedi, it didn't matter.

The preconceived notion appeared to be that she was dangerous, a potential time bomb. She shook her head. For the past two weeks she'd barely been able to see straight, let alone make anyone think she was dangerous.

Maybe there was something to what he was saying.

"I don't have a lightsaber," she said finally. "Nor am I wearing robes. I should be able to blend in well enough, if we make it to a planet without having the rumor mill already working."

"That's a big if," Atton said, crossing his arms. "But if you want to hit up Dantooine first, it might be out of the way enough."

"As long as no one recognizes me," she mused. "I did train there for a few years."

"Great," Atton replied sarcastically.

Trista's comm chirped, and she checked it. "Habat. B4 must be done." She stood, and headed to pay for her meal. Atton shook his head, stood, and followed her.

"Only thing I can say is don't get me killed," he said, as they headed for the shuttle.

#

"_We have the information from Czerka's mainframe,_" Habat said, by way of greeting. "_Thank you, Trista Morace._"

"You're quite welcome," she replied. "Now, about that shuttle . . ."

"_Yes. You have done more than enough - we cannot conceivably ask for more._" Habat nodded. "_The shuttle is in our docking bay, C4. It will take you down to Telos' surface. Look for an Iridonian technician. He should still be in that zone, and he will help you find your errant ship._"

"Thank you," Trista replied honestly, turning to leave. Habat held out a large hand.

"_Wait._" She and Atton stopped, and turned back. "_I also said that I would heal you. If you will let me, I will do what I can._"

Something warred back in her. She _should_ let him because they needed it. Even if the galaxy was hostile to her kind - well, her former kind - they needed someone who could fight the Sith on their own terms now. But at the same time, she couldn't be sure this wasn't a nightmare, and she knew that her self of just a couple weeks ago would never have agreed to such a thing . . .

"Okay," she said, reluctantly. Habat nodded his flat head.

"_Hold still._" She did, and one finger pressed gently into her forehead.

All of a sudden it felt warm. The necrotic lesion on the Force seemed to lift, if only to be pushed back and linger, almost on the outskirts of her senses, the empty hole replaced by the lingering warmth that she dimly recognized from years before.

"_I have done what I could,_" Habat said, though he sounded . . . sad? She staggered a bit, and Atton held out his hand.

"You all right?"

She thought for a moment, then surprised herself. "Yeah. I . . . think I am." The answer bore far more importance than Atton knew, and Trista looked back at Habat. "Thank you," she said quietly. He nodded.

"_Thank you,_" he replied. "_Your efforts may have saved Telos. Now hurry. I feel your path takes you away from here, and quickly._"

"There we are both agreed." She turned, and started to leave. "Atton, we'll comm Kreia and -"

:: There is no need. ::

"Never mind. We'll meet up with her at the shuttle and take it to the bays."

Atton noticed there was something more in her steps, something like a weight had been simultaneously lessened and added, but he didn't comment. "Right. Then down into Czerka headquarters. Hey! Think they know we've ruined their reputation yet?"

She halfheartedly glared at him.

#

They met Kreia outside the apartments, the old woman standing nonchalantly in the middle of the walkway while Telosian residents seemingly gave her a wide berth. Atton didn't blame them - Trista thought it strange, but didn't comment.

"I sense we may not be done here," she said calmly. "Something may yet occur."

"I'm sure it won't," Trista said, starting for the shuttle. "The Exchange is no longer a problem, and Czerka would be stupid to stop us now."

"It will not be directed at us."

Almost on cue, Trista's comm chirped. She stopped. "This i-"

"_Jedi! Jedi, can you hear me?!_" The frantic voice belonged to Moza, and he sounded absolutely terrified. "_This is terrible, terrible! Armed humans have broken into our home and are causing much destruction and death among my herd!_"

"We do not have time to assist them," Kreia said lightly.

"Hush!" She turned her attention back to the comm. "Did you see how many?" Trista had already turned on her heel, striding back towards the Enclave. Atton rolled his eye sbut jogged after her, Kreia drifting behind them as usual. "How bad is the situation?"

"_Many of my herdmates lie dead. They have threatened to kill Chodo, and I think they will see it through. You must help us - the TSF is powerless_."

"I'll be there in half a minute, Moza. Stay where you are."

"_They are holding Chodo in his room, you will need a passkey. I have it, but I am in the vivarium and men are hammering in the door. Please, hurry-_" The recording suddenly ended. Trista slammed her comm back onto her belt and broke into a run, Atton rolling his eyes again before following suit.

"I should have expected Czerka to pull something like this," she said flatly as they approached the Enclave. "No corporation would like losing money, especially one that's as open to murder as they are."

She drew her vibrosword as they reached the door, slamming her hand into the latch. The door opened, revealing a group of mercenaries who looked suspiciously like they had previously been in Czerka Headquarters, standing facing a terrified-looking Ithorian huddled behind the reception desk.

"Bet you damn flatheads regret gettin' that Jedi bitch to help you," one of them was stating as the door opened. Atton clicked the safety off his blasters, glancing at Trista. It'd be easier to take them while their backs were turned, but he figured she wouldn't. Stupid Jedi morals and whatnot.

Not that he was going to advocate walking away and leaving them to their own devices ...

Trista extended her hand, and the blaster pointed at the Ithorian's head flew out of its owner's hand. They spun, and she tossed it to the side. "Sorry to interrupt your terribly frightening spiel," she said calmly. "But if anyone were going to die here, I'd prefer it not be him."

One of the mercs grinned ferally, lifting his blaster. "With pleasure."

Atton fired the first shot, drilling the apparent leader directly in between the eyes. Trista extended her hand, diverting a pair of blaster bolts as she swung her vibrosword through one of the mercs, then spun on her heel and sliced through another. He had no idea what Kreia was doing, but a few moments later half the attackers had simply just flown back into the walls, some leaving dents as they slumped to the floor.

Trista, meanwhile, merely ran the last standing merc through with her vibrosword, spinning the hilt over her hand before dropping it to her side, only for it to clatter to the floor. Atton stared at her for a second, and she sighed heavily before picking it up. When she glanced over her shoulder he looked away, looking suddenly interested in in one of the dead mercs.

"Lock the door and send an alert if any other mercs start knocking," Trista ordered. The Ithorian nodded and pulled himself back behind the reception desk. "And call the TSF and warn them of the disturbance. Let them know that I will have everything in hand shortly."

"_Y-yes, Master Jedi_."

She didn't bother to correct him as she strode back into the rest of the enclave.

#

At the door to the Vivarium, Trista held up her hand. "Get ready," she murmured. "Moza said that mercs were just outside the door, but -"

"No mercs," Atton finished.

"I doubt they merely lost interest," she replied simply.

"I'll get the door." Trista nodded as Atton slipped by her, reaching a hand for the door's lock. Trista readied her sword, not even bothering to give Kreia orders. Atton had been noticing that in fights - she just let Kreia do what she would. He'd have to ask later.

He opened the door, and Trista walked through as if she were present for a routine visit. Mercs had herded the hiding Ithorians into a corner, Moza standing protectively in front of his herdmates.

"Sorry that we're late," she said sharply. The mercs turned, eyeing them. "If you'll simply leave, I won't have to kill you."

"Heh. We ain't paid enough to not deal with an upstart half-Jedi." He almost looked shockingly intelligent. Trista spun her vibrosword again. "Ain't even got a lightsaber."

Trista simply raised her hand, then made a motion. He found himself thrown off his feet, across the vivarium and into the wall. "I wasn't aware I needed one," she replied simply. "Run, and you'll get out with your lives. I would think that would be more important than _credits_."

The show of force seemed to be enough. After a few glances at their unconscious leader, they sprinted for the door.

The Ithorians huddled in the corner straightened, many of them looking shocked or relieved at the trio's sudden appearance. Moza hurried forward.

"_Thank goodness you came so quickly. Here is the passkey. Please hurry!_"

Trista took the key and nodded sharply, and hurried out of the room.

They crossed the enclave to the private quarters, back towards Chodo's office. Atton held out his hand as she reached for the door lock.

"I'll do it again. Don't want to get in the way of those vibroblades or anything."

She nodded sharply and handed him the passcard, and he tapped the lock.

Chodo had been forced to his knees, a mercenary in front of him holding his blaster ready. The rest stood in an arc, guns similarly held.

"And now, Chodo Habat, you will die along with your herd."

Chodo's plea - not for himself, but for Telos - was nearly drowned out by his reply. "That is none of my concern. I was hired to do a job - no measure of pleading will change that."

"What about a better offer?" Trista inquired. He turned, and a dry, raspy chuckle crossed his lips.

"This is the best you could muster, Habat? Very well, I shall simply add their bodies to the dead." He holstered his blaster and slowly drew his vibrosword, sheathed across his back. "Come on then, Jedi. Protect your Ithorian friend."

"With pleasure," she replied, voice flat. Something niggled back in her mind - he had been waiting for this, he'd _wanted_ this ... she would need to be careful. "Atton, Kreia, mind the others."

"Gladly," Atton replied. He had already fired off a shot when the leader threw himself forward, and Trista moved her blade out of her guard to block. His momentum carried him past her, and she swung around to face him. A blaster bolt whipped past her thigh, hamstringing one of the mercs.

The man turned, circling his blade. Trista thought it strange to not feel anything - no nerves, no concern, no trepidation. Simply the blandness that she'd felt, almost without fail, for a decade. He charged again and she swatted his sword aside as if it were nothing more than a mere annoyance, replying with a swing that cut across his chest.

"You left yourself open," she replied simply. He scowled and replied with a wild swing, met easily with Trista's easy parry.

She had been using vibroswords for years, now, yet it was starting to feel heavy, clunky. The idea that she would need to find a lightsaber at some point, even just to regain the lightness, the ease of use, the familiar combat actions that several years of combat had beaten into her so long ago, was not at all welcome. She didn't want one - ever again. But even so ...

Trista didn't like being _rusty_.

He swung again, high this time, and she parried and used the force to spin behind him, the vibrosword striking the back of his knees. The leader swore, stumbling on his injured joints even as he moved to counter her. Trista threw out her hand, reaching back into the warmth of the Force and pushing forwards.

He flew off his feet, rolling head over heels into a table.

"One last chance to leave," Trista said simply.

His reply was to climb back to his feet, pick up his sword and charge. Trista easily circled his blade, binding it at its hilt. He tried to force it back, and she whipped her hand around and slammed her fist, still wrapped around the hilt, into his face. He stumbled back, and she twirled her blade back into its grip and thrust forward, running him through.

The rest of the mercs were down, and as she looked to check on the others Kreia was typically passive and emotionless, and Atton was holstering his blasters. She nodded - he nodded back - and turned to Chodo.

"You're all right?" she asked. His flat head nodded as he picked himself off the floor, eyeing the now-deceased mercs warily.

"_I cannot believe Czerka would escalate to this! They will stop at nothing for this sabotage._" He tromped over to one of them, staring down sadly. "_They have gone too far this time. If the authorities are informed, they will have no choice but to act._"

"_Chodo!_" Moza pushed past Atton at the door, rushing into the room.

"Hey!" Atton resettled his jacket. "Damn flatheads," he mumbled.

"_Moza, you are safe!_" Chodo marched over and looked his assistant over, and nodded. "_You must go to the Telosian council, and inform them what has happened here. Make them see the evil they have allowed on the station. They must stop Czerka._"

"_At once, Chodo_." He stomped out, moving about as fast as an Ithorian could. Chodo returned his attention to them.

"_I had feared you had boarded the shuttle to the Restoration Zone already. I am glad that was not the case._"

"As am I," Trista replied. "Will you be safe if we leave? I'd like to not be constrained by the authorities when they arrive."

"_Yes. Move quickly - perhaps the events here will allow you to leave unnoticed._" Chodo rested a hand on her shoulder. "_Travel in peace, Trista Morace._"

"I doubt I will have that luxury," she replied quietly. "But I thank you for the sentiment all the same."

#

"So," Atton said as he settled at the controls of the shuttle. "Think we need to say anything to Telos Control?"

"Of course not." Trista strapped into the copilot's seat.

"I didn't think so. Just thought I'd check with your Jediness first." He glanced over his shoulder and started the shuttle, listening as the engine rumbled under him. "Restoration Zone 0031?"

"That is what Habat said," Trista replied, checking her own controls. Atton nodded and began to fly the ship out of the hangar.

"All right. I'd assume that Czerka's not gonna like us coming to visit, so be ready for anything."

Trista nodded as Telos' surface loomed ahead of them, some sections still barren and others green, each divided by shimmering, glowing shields. Atton let the shuttle direct them to the the proper zone, the windshield glowing as they entered Telos' atmosphere.

"All right, should only be a few minutes. Hey, doesn't look like the TSF noticed us yet."

"Thank the Force," Trista murmured.

The shuttle suddenly rocked, hard. Atton swore in a long stream, struggling with the controls as the shuttle lurched. "Are you frakking kidding me," he snapped, wrenching them to the side. "Grab onto something, sweets, this is gonna get rough real fast."

"You know I hate it when you call me that," she retorted, looking over her shoulder to ensure Kreia was fine while grabbing for the handle on the side of the console.

"Well, if it was the last time I was gonna call you something, that'd be it. Hold on!"

Trista lurched in her seat as the shuttle struck something on the pilot's side, then snapped back as the motion sent them ricocheting into something else. The shuttle spun and Atton fought to straighten it out as it suddenly snapped to a stop, and Trista's head struck the side hard.


	16. Chapter 15

A/N: Unfortunately I did just get my edits back so after Chapter 17 I might disappear again. They ... weren't as good as I hoped, though they also weren't as bad as I thought they'd be so ...

* * *

**15**

Trista groaned, one hand fumbling for her harness. She dimly remembered a shuttle, but she couldn't find the latch that would release her from her seat. In fact, it didn't even feel like she was on a seat. She felt around herself - no, grass. She was outside.

If she'd been in a shuttle, how'd she -

Trista rolled over onto her stomach, pushing herself up. Her head was pounding, but she _had_ to check on the others. As she lifted her head, she found herself nose-to-optic with a small remote droid.

"Oh - hi," she mumbled.

"General. Good to see you're awake." The voice sounded dimly familiar - familiar in that she had heard it before, and dimly in that it seemed to be related to a period of life that she refused to consider any longer. The ground muffled the speaker's footfalls as he approached, and she pushed herself off the ground.

"Not a general," she mumbled, pulling herself to her feet. Not anymore, at least. Never again, if she had a choice.

"Easy now." Whoever was speaking reached out a hand to steady her. "You survived a spectacular crash. Lucky I was here to pull you out or you'd be more that a bit crispy."

She glanced over her shoulder, one hand holding onto his arm. The shuttle was burning a good distance behind them. It looked like quite the spectacular crash, at least. "There were two people with me, they -"

"They're fine. Your pilot barely has a scratch and the old lady is tougher than she looks."

"You called me general," she said plainly. "Why? I'm sure you've just got me conf-"

"I was one of your techs during the war, one of the Iridonian mechanics corps at Malachor. Bao-Dur?"

"Yeah, I ... I don't really think about ... I don't think about the war," she forced out, staggering over to Atton to check on him. He started to stir. "No offense." Now that he'd placed himself in her history she dimly recalled him. But even thinking of Malachor ... she shook her head again, hoping it would seem like she was merely clearing it.

"Don't try to remember too hard. I'd rather not discuss the war if we could."

"You brought it up," she reminded him.

"Owwww ..." Atton complained, encouraging her to move back over to Kreia. She was already pulling herself to her feet, brushing off her robe.

"You know, never thought I'd see you again," Bao-Dur said thoughtfully. "Galaxy's a big place, and this is certainly the last place I thought I'd bump into you."

She straightened, digging a hand into her eye. "Not by chance, I assure you," she replied. "I'm looking for a ship. It went missing on Citadel Station, and I think you're the person the Ithorians told us to come see."

"Well, your shuttle is scrap," Bao-Dur mused. "And I haven't seen a ship that isn't a shuttle land in this zone recently."

"Owww ..." Atton complained again, reaching out to steady himself on Trista's shoulder. "Feels like my last time on Telos."

"Crashed a shuttle then, too?"

"Nah." Atton blinked at Bao-Dur a few times. "Pazaak."

"That was not the most _pleasant_ landing I've endured," Kreia announced, continuing to brush debris and dust off her robe. "Perhaps next time we should seek out a more _reputable_ pilot."

"Hey!" Atton protested. "If I wasn't such a crack pilot, we could be a smear on that rock face, or maybe that shield wall. Besides, we were shot down, and no one's supposed to be here but a Czerka research team! I mean sure we pissed Czerka off, but c'mon." He scratched the back of his head, looking vaguely thoughtful. "You know, I did catch a glimpse of what looked like an AD tower when we flew over the compound."

"Why would a research team have an AD tower?" Trista dug her thumb into the bridge of her nose.

"Search me, probably doing something they shouldn't be. I've seen pirate bases with the same sort of set-up."

Bao-Dur _heh_'d. "Doing what they shouldn't do is a hallmark of Czerka."

"Either way, we need to find our ship. Or a ship. Some ship. I'm not picky right now," Trista said, looking back to the Zabrak. "You said you haven't seen any ships come in?"

"No, but I do have access to the shield network. We'll need to get back to the compound - it's the old Ithorian research base, turned salvage team staging area. It ... won't be an easy hike." He crossed his arms. She just then noticed that one glowed brightly, looking more as if his hand connected to his arm through a shimmering, sparkling field of energy.

"Why won't it?" Trista asked, echoing his arm cross.

"Czerka shuttles men and equipment from that landing pad. There's very possibly a shuttle we can use there, if we can breach the perimeter. _Or_ ... we could try our luck in the underground ruins. You can also probably assume that they won't like us coming in to borrow their gear."

"Either way, it looks like our best bet is heading to the compound."

"Exactly."

"How are you two feeling?" Trista turned, looking back at Atton and Kreia. "Atton?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"_That_ is debatable." He glared out the corner of his eye at Kreia. "We should move quickly."

Trista released what sounded like a quiet, frustrated huff and turned back to Bao-Dur. "You know where this place is?"

"I do, General."

"Lead the way, then."

#

Lieutenant Grenn knew, as soon as the holocomm link chirped in his office, who it was, and that he would be less than thrilled at his news.

It'd been a busy two days. The attack on the Ithorians had eaten up much of his time, and when he'd sent an officer to collect Trista and her companions' testimonies the next morning, the officer had found their apartment abandoned. A frantic search of the station had turned up _nothing_.

He'd lost them, and he suspected the Ithorians had been involved.

Grenn steeled himself and pressed the button to accept the call.

::_Citadel Station, this is Admiral Carth Onasi of the Republic Cruiser _Sojourn_._::

Of course it was.

Grenn saluted. "Lieutenant Grenn, sir, TSF. We've been expecting you."

::_Grenn!_:: Onasi seemed pleased enough at who he was speaking to. ::_Good to know the TSF hasn't gone to shambles in my absence._::

"And what about you? An admiral now?"

::_They had to give me something for my 'decorated service' during the war._:: There was something else there, behind his statement. Grenn knew as much as anyone else did in the galaxy - he had been assigned to an extremely specialized, extremely secret squad with several Jedi, including the fallen Padawan Bastila Shan and the amnesiac Revan, but that was about it. He could only assume that was what he meant.

"Well, you may change your tune after you see what the situation is, Carth. I've, ah ... got some bad news for you."

::_It can't be that bad, Grenn. I think Telos has already been through the worst._::

"The woman you came all the way out here to pick up, well ... she got away from us. We're not exactly sure how it happened."

::_Damn._:: He sighed heavily. ::_Unfortunate, but it still fits our plans._::

"How so?"

::_I'll tell you more when I arrive, but the Republic has decided to adopt a wait-and-see approach rather than detain the Exile._::

_"_T-the Exile? Then-"

::_As I said, we'll talk more when I arrive._::

Something on Grenn's scanners bleeped - an incoming capital ship. "Looks like we will. I've uploaded the approach vector to your helm - see you soon, Admiral."

On the other end of the comm, Carth closed his line and leaned forward onto his desk, resting his forehead in his palms. There was a quiet knock at the door.

"Come in."

"Admiral, I have those reports you requested." Bastila's voice greeted him, then abruptly changed as soon as the door was closed. Since someone had started asking questions, she'd simply been posing as his aide, and that had seemed to settle that and keep her cover solid. "Carth, are you all right? _Force_, it's about Morace, isn't it?"

He nodded mutely. She checked the door and settled down across the desk from him, leaning forward. "But she was on Telos. She was safe-"

"She slipped off the station," he said quietly. "Not only that, but you know the Republic's orders as well as I do."

Bastila sighed heavily. "We do not have _time _to 'wait-and-see.' Morace is our best lead."

"We've lost her, Bas," Carth retorted. "Even if those weren't the Republic's orders, we have no other options."

She shook her head. Neither of them wanted to state the obvious - that without Trista Morace, a former Jedi familiar with the Rim - and with Revan - and without either of the droids or the _Ebon Hawk_, their search was as good as done. Bastila rested her head in her hands - with no idea who was alive, no contact from any of the Jedi who had left Coruscant on the Order's on terms, she felt as if solving the entire mystery of the assailants _and_ trying to rebuild was falling on _her_. There were other Jedi out there, and at least four members of the Council had left alive, that she knew - but what if they were doing nothing? Or, even worse - what if whatever had destroyed the Order had found _them_?

"I wish Jolee were here," she said quietly. Carth sighed and nodded.

"Same."

With another sigh Bastila stood. "I will be in my room," she said quietly. "I'll see if I can locate Revan again."

"Good luck," he murmured, standing as she left. He needed to act as if nothing was wrong, after all.

#

"This is definitely going to be better than last time," Atton assured them as they strapped into the shuttle. Bao-Dur settled into the copilot's seat, leaving Trista to strap into the back with Kreia. As awkward as it felt, she tried to push it back out of mind. There was something strange about the woman traveling with them, but she couldn't put her finger on more than _strange_.

They flew in an uncomfortable silence for a few minutes, then Bao-Dur pointed to one of the screens with his shimmering arm. "There."

"Doesn't look like much," Atton replied.

"There is likely a reason for that."

Atton glared over at him. "You don't say."

The white cap of Telos' polar region loomed into view as Atton steered the shuttle towards the ice. "You're going to be able to put down safely, right?" Trista asked. "I don't want a repeat of what happened earlier."

"Won't be a problem, sweets," Atton called back. "Bring it in at a direct angle, drop it straight down and cut the thrust. Pure pa-what in hell-"

The shuttle lurched again, hard, part of the back exploding off. "That wasn't me this time!" Atton yelled back as Trista blinked at the hole in the shuttle for a moment. "You've got to be kidding me!"

Five seconds later, the shuttle slammed into the ice. Trista lurched forward, keeping herself away from the sides, and as it skidded to a stop she was the first out of her seat, checking on the others. Kreia simply waved her off, and she checked the cockpit.

Atton was dazed but awake, fumbling with his harness. She left him to check on Bao-Dur. He was slumped in his seat - unsurprising, as that side of the ship had slammed far harder into the ice - though he only appeared to be unconscious. "Atton."

"Yeah?"

"He's fine, just unconscious. Get him out of here. I'm going to see what shot us down."

"Tris-Trista!" She turned. "Just ... be careful, all right? That was some heavy ordinance." She nodded and turned on her heel, dropping out of the ruined back of the shuttle. Kreia followed her, drawing her robe around herself tightly.

"I am certainly not dressed for this," Trista mumbled.

"Focus. I do not believe these will be easily defeatable."

"If they are using an ordinance heavy enough to destroy the back of a short-range shuttle, I would be disappointed if they were," she replied calmly.

They had crashed on what appeared to be a tall ice mesa with surrounding stone spires - four, to be precise, though Trista would not consider their resemblance to any important Jedi architecture until much later. They had landed precariously close to an edge of the mesa, though not close enough to tip off it. The wind whipped across her face, blowing smoke that smelled like fuel over her face in small, quick whorls. It was freezing, and she pulled her coat around herself tightly. She had only stepped out for a few minutes, but already the tip of her nose was going numb, and she could barely feel her fingers.

"You have not forgotten how to regulate your internal temperature with the Force, have you?"

"I've felt the Force again for about a week," she replied irritably. "What do you think?"

Kreia's reply was cut off by approaching noise, and Trista looked up. Three silver droids stood some distance from them, accompanied by several floating mines. "Ugh," she said quietly. "These guys again."

"Relieved Statement!" One of them proclaimed as they approached. "Ah, Jedi, it is good to see you intact. We were concerned that shooting down your shuttle would damage you irreparably."

"Here's a tip. Next time you are trying to capture someone, _wait for the shuttle to land_," she retorted.

"Objection: Jedi, we do not need lectures on capturing targets," a different droid said. She frowned.

"Ugh. Tris, your friend could afford to lose a couple kilos," Atton huffed, stepping out of the shuttle. Bao-Dur was slung across his shoulders in a carry, though he let the Zabrak slide down when he spotted the droids. "Speaking of friends ..."

"What are you even doing here? How did you find me?" She glanced over her shoulder at the ship. "And why did you shoot me down?"

"Unnecessary clarification: We merely wished to cripple your vessel, Jedi. Perhaps injure you, in order to better conduct a cessation of hostilities."

"... I'm really starting to hate these guys," Atton hissed.

"You and me both," she murmured.

"Probing query: We are, however, curious as to why you chose to come to the remnants of the polar Telos irrigation system. There is nothing here that our instruments can detect."

"I don't see how that is any of your concern," she replied simply.

"Eager threat: That is precisely why we are looking forward to extracting your motives for coming here when we place you in torture restraints."

"I don't think so," Atton retorted. Trista reached out to keep him from raising a gun.

"Not yet," she whispered.

"As a side note, those mines explode," he murmured.

"Good call." She returned her attention to the droids. "Just how many of you can I expect to dismantle before you get the message?" Trista asked. The reply seemed to amuse the droids.

"Chiding statement," one of them finally replied. "Oh, Jedi, there are as many of us as are needed to capture or kill our targets."

"Egotistical boast," another added. "And there are far more of us than any one Jedi. Destroy one of us, and more shall rise from the wreckage."

"Great," she replied simply, drawing her vibrosword. "I recommend you bring more next time."

The droids readied their weapons. "Unnecessary threat: Our attack protocols are more than a match for you - and your allies."

"Yeah. About that," Atton said. "Next time, don't stand so close to your mines."

Trista threw out her hand, throwing the mines back towards the droids. Atton fired, striking one as it flew backwards. It exploded, sending the droids stumbling back. "Shoulda given them a few dents."

"Not enough to take them down, of course." Trista took a step forward. "Kreia, the one on the right, Atton, the one on the left. I'll see what I can do on the last."

As she started forward even more, Atton laying down a few rounds of cover fire as she sprinted towards the middle droid. Kreia had neither drawn her weapon, or moved. As she struck her droid, a shower of sparks darting off its metal head, Atton rolled to exchange fire with the one on the left.

Trista parried off a blow from the droid's rifle, trying to wait for her opportunity. It sounded as if metal were crumpling next to her, but she ignored it as she finally sliced through the gun's barrel and slammed her hand against the droid's chassis.

Pulling on the Force she focused her attention on its joints - the weak spots in the frame - and clenched her hand. She heard the metal crumpling even as she flung her hand out, sending the droid tumbling back over the far side of the mesa.

Atton's dropped next, chassis finally giving in under a hail of blasterfire that struck its operational core. She turned to attack Kreia's, the last standing, and she was surprised to find that all that was left was an extremely crumpled lump of metal.

Trista drew a breath and sheathed her vibrosword. Without a word, she walked back and bent down, pulling Bao-Dur into a carry around her shoulders. Outside of combat the freezing temperature started to come back, and she suspected night was beginning to fall. If they wanted to survive, they needed to find someplace warm or send up a distress call and wind up back on Citadel Station - likely under even more intense security watch.

"The ship must be here," she said simply. "Wherever it is, it must be indoors, and we should find said indoors quickly."

"Yeah. Good plan."

She shifted Bao-Dur's weight and skimmed the mesa. "I suppose we should look for some sort of disturbance in the snow, or -"

"Perhaps the strange outcropping near the center?" Kreia prompted. They both turned to look - indeed, there was a conspicuous snow drift there, conspicuous mostly due to the fact that it was the _only_ one.

"... It's worth a look." Trista started towards it, watching her step on the snow-covered ice, and the others followed. Once there she realized that it was indeed hiding the entrance to a base of some sort, what looked like a little-used blast door with a few snowy footprints on the couple steps down. Trista nodded. "Looks like this is it. Hopefully whoever is in here is fine with us dropping by unannounced."

As she raised her hand to knock on the door, it slid open. She lowered it slowly, staring into the dark hallway beyond. Atton coughed.

"I've got a bad feeling about this."

"Same," she murmured. "But we don't have much of a choice."

Trista stepped through warily, the hand not holding Bao-Dur in place hovering near her vibrosword. Atton followed her slowly, probably more cautiously, guns ready. As always Kreia drifted in back, seeming completely unconcerned.

As they stepped through what seemed like an airlock and out the other side, a large, round room opened up ahead of them. As Kreia cleared it, the door slammed shut behind them with a loud bang. Trista spun, immediately regretting her decision to come inside without figuring out who the hell was here.

"We've got company," Atton murmured. She turned as he raised his blasters, only to be confronted with the sharp end of an electrostaff less than a meter from her nose. She focused on the wielder, finding a pale, white-haired woman on the other end.

"Lay down your weapons, and you shall not be harmed," she demanded.

"Who are you?" Trista asked.

"I will not warn you again. Drop your weapons, or they will be taken from you."

"I'm not handing over my guns," Atton said, holding the stated weapons ready in case someone decided to use their electrostaffs.

"Do as they say, Jedi. I sense we will not come to any harm."

"Anything else you wanna sense while you seem to be on top of things?" Atton retorted. Kreia tilted her head, obviously displeased.

"She's right, Atton," Trista said quietly. They didn't feel threatening. One hand drew her vibrosword, catching it by the blade and passing it to the woman across from her. She took it, then motioned to the other two.

Kreia passed over her weapon, still sheathed, without any further comment. Atton took the longest, apparently wrestling over some internal debate before reluctantly passing over his blasters. And his holdout blaster. And his knife. And several thermal grenades of unknown origin that Trista didn't remember seeing before.

"I hope we will be taken to whoever is in charge here," Trista said, her voice falling back into the same tone most Jedi adopted.

"We will care for your companions. I will take you to our Mistress."

"I would prefer-"

"I apologize, but this is not a negotiation," she stated. "You will accompany my sister and I to our Mistress, and your companions will be held as per her orders."

"This keeps getting better and better," Atton murmured. "I'll take your friend. Hate for this 'Mistress' to get any more of a bug up her ass."

She clumsily shifted Bao-Dur onto Atton's shoulders, and to his surprise her hand lingered on his shoulder for a moment.

"If you don't hear from me in a couple hours," she whispered, voice low. "Do what you can to escape."

Atton huffed. "Don't worry, sweets, that was the plan."


End file.
